CricBD » Prelude to Bangladesh

The Election

a politician is an arse upon which everyone has sat except a man.
e. e. cummings

    IT DID NOT come altogether as a surprise when the military government of Pakistan announced its intention of holding by-elections to the National Assembly. In East Pakistan, those seats which had become vacant through the defection of certain members to India, had to be filled.
    Whether they considered that the regime had arrived at this decision after much thought and debate, or whether through sheer boredom, the idea appealed at once to the average Bengalee mentality - because if there is anything they exuberantly enjoy, it is an election!
    The politicos of the town were agog with excitement. Dormant parties began to think at once in terms of revival, only to find that they had been banned.
    Old, doddering politicians crept out of the woodwork, and began tinting their faded public images, and 'moving among the people', only to find that the army would nominate candidates, and support mainly those of its choice. Such matters as past records, or popularity, or experience, would not in themselves be major factors for consideration. And so some aspirants began to ingratiate themselves with the army authorities. Officers found themselves being invited to lunches, teas, dinners, and, as a last resort, even to millads*, which they had politely to decline. All this only succeeded in baffling the power-hungry politicians, who lacked the basic intelligence to understand that the elections would be a farce, put on to assure a critical world that the military authorities were anxious to restore 'democracy', and hand over power to a civilian government, which of course they were not in the least inclined to do. They further claimed that they had the situation well under control, which was only true up to a point.
    One of the old politicos who felt that he was bound to be selected for nomination was Bulbul Hameed Khan. He was co-partner with a non-Bengalee in an oil mail, and was fond of describing himself as an industrialist, one who had contributed his mite to the development of the district.
    His partner, a Behari, Ghulam Rasool by name, who had never been in any way involved in politics, now felt the itch himself, and realising that under the present regime non-Bengalees were bound to find favour with the army, decided to have a bash at it, and secure a nomination through the above qualification alone. Unfortunately, both partners belonged to the same constituency, so he kept his ambition a temporary secret.
    The two prospective candidates were not really concerned with the motives behind the government's decision to organize this charade. All they wanted was to be in a position to use the prestige and influence of a member of the Assembly to approach the appropriate ministries in Dacca for self-aggrandisement. But why single out these two? All the hopefuls had this one objective in mind. They had as such concern for the 'welfare of the people', as a tired shopkeeper for a queue of customers.
    As the day for filing nomination papers approached, the comedy well and truly began.
    Bulbul had been successful in opening a channel to the army authorities. He was a small, ugly man, with an oily, ingratiating manner, which could arouse nothing in an army officer except disgust and contempt. Of this he was, as in most things outside the production of diluted mustard oil, unaware.
    Bulbul's strategy to obtain his nomination was to pay frequent visits to martial law headquarters, displaying his deep concern about the law and order situation, the security of the country, and the safety of East Pakistan, now faced with grave danger. Then he began carrying fictitious accounts of rebel hideouts in his constituency. At first the army entertained his reports of rebels activities seriously, and even sent patrols to the spots indicated by Bulbul who insisted on accompanying these patrols, thus demonstrating his knowledge and courage. Only he knew of course that there were no rebels where he led the patrols, and hence nothing to fear. These missions may have failed, but Bulbul's stratagem succeeded. He was observed by the simple villagers of his constituency to be in great cahoots with the army, and this made his chances of success in securing his nomination as bright as the sun. Or so he thought.
    Ghulam Rasool, on the other hand, adopted a totally different approach. He could not come out into the open just yet, and he was clever enough to realise that personal appearances in his constituency, merely for nomination purposes, were unnecessary. Indeed, they would have proved fatal!
    Now the officer selected by the Brigadier to handle clearance of candidates and allied matters, was a certain Major Murshed Ali, and it was to him that Ghulam Rasool directed his attention.
    Major Murshed was originally from a province of central India, and he and his family had migrated to Pakistan, and taken up residence in Karachi, whither the Major's thoughts would constantly fly whatever his occupation of the moment, several thousand times a day. His office desk supported a cluster of framed photographs of his wife and children; especially his children, five in number. He also carried photographs of them in his wallet, and would, on every possible occasion, display them for admiration to new acquaintances, and even, absentmindedly, sometimes to old ones. His unhappiness was so apparent, and so persistent, that the Brigadier thought that this electoral assignment might well distract him, and provide a little diverting interest in the persons whom he had to screen and recommend. It is difficult to say how Ghulam Rasool came to know of this, but come to know he did, and acted accordingly.
    Now although the fact was known only to a few of his brother officers, Major Murshed had become a secret drinker. Always a two-peg man in the messes of West Pakistan, his intake had grown steadily, until he was consuming over half-a-bottle after office hours, in his quarters, listening to the radio, and gazing at even more framed photographs of his wife and children, which littered his dressing table.
    The Brigadier frowned on drinking, and so little care was taken to keep the mess well provided with liquor. To further complicate matters, the local shop had run dry, and so Major Murshed not only became more morose than ever, his nerves were constantly on edge. His hands shook noticeably, and Colonel Ayub prescribed a course of tranquilisers.
    Somehow, Ghulam Rasool managed to arrange for a number of bottles of whisky to be brought up from Dacca. He discreetly sent a bottle to the Major with his compliments, through a trusted employee. But Major Murshed refused his precious gift with equal discretion. Rasool sent his servant again, and this time Major Murshed was sorely tempted. Whatever anyone might say, a tranquiliser is no substitute for half-a-bottle of whisky! So spirit triumphed over weakness of will, and on the second approach he gave in and accepted, and fresh bottles began to arrive at calculated intervals.
    Ghulam Rasool now publicly announced his candidature, and Bulbul Khan was completely taken aback. He was dumbfounded. He was betrayed. But he was not beaten. He would not only secure the coveted nomination, he vowed he would be elected with what is known as a thumping majority!
    And then, on the eve of nomination day, dramatic events took place.
    Major Mushed's brother officers, however loyal they had hitherto been, now became suspicious. Not all the officers were teetotallers, so some of them knew that there was no liquor legitimately available in the town. From where, then, was Major Murshed obtaining his supply? Could it be that someone was using whisky as a bribe, to secure his nomination perhaps? Or had Murshed's friends in Dacca come to his rescue? The latter seemed highly unlikely, the former nearer the mark. So they decided the time had come to inform the Brigadier about what was going on. This was duly done, and the Brigadier acted promptly. He sent for the compromised Major.
    "I am not going to waste time by beating about the bush Murshed. All I want you to disclose is the name of the person who has been supplying you with whisky. Little will be gained by your attempting to deny that this person was bribing you to get his nomination clearance. I would also like to know whether you have been receiving any other kinds of gifts from other persons for the same purpose. I know you to be an honourable soldier, and I therefore expect to hear the whole truth."
    Major Murshed gazed gloomily at a flower vase on the Brigadier's desk. It's all over, he thought. I was foolish to fall prey to temptation. It was not going to make any difference to my judgment, but to adopt this line would make matters worse. I have failed. How can I live it down as a soldier, and a family man? Disgrace. Then, with slightly bowed head, he told the Brigadier the whole story, who missed him by saying:
    "Well, Murshed, this affair has been most sordid and disgraceful. We shall not refer to it again. You may resume your normal duties in Signals."
    The Brigadier's next move was to instruct the District Election Officer to postpone the filing of nomination papers for two days. He then ordered the District Police Officer to place Ghulam Rasool under immediate arrest, and chuck him into jail. He followed this up by appointing a Captain who could be spared, to investigate all the candidates who were on the secret selection list, and those cleared by Major Murshed, and find a substitute for the Khan/Rasool constituency. This time he chose an officer from Intelligence, which, he thought, he should have done in the first place.
    Whilst all this hullabaloo was going on, Intelligence was apprised of a singular development on the Bulbul from. An informer arrived at Intelligence headquarters with the interesting news that one of Bulbul's sons had been missing for months. And, the informer added, far from showing any visible signs of alarm or anxiety, the father was making frantic efforts to conceal the fact! The conclusion was obvious. The son had crossed the border into India.
    Now poor Bulbul had made an unwitting remark one night over the dinner table, and that remark had come home to roost. He ate his rice and curry in a manner calculated to impair digestion, swallowing it quickly and not properly masticated, and talking incessantly. With his mouth half-full, he had said to his silent family:
    "If the army were eventually to lose in this struggle, and many of my wise friends secretly say that they might, would it not be an advantage if one of my sons were to cross the border and join the Freedom Fighters? It would be a golden investment against the uncertain future."
    Actually he had been thinking aloud, as he often did during meals, and immediately forgot about this idle, but highly dangerous remark.
    His second eldest son, Shahid, had absorbed this uttered thought, and an idea had been born in his mind, which later began to grow. He decided to become a hero to his father, who had tended to regard him as somewhat of a weakling. He had no ideals of any kind, but was not a physical coward. What he decided to do was based entirely on self-interest - the promotion of his heroism to please his father, whose utterance seemed on reflection to be more than a mere hint. He was testing the mettle of his sons!
    In Ghulam Rasool's household all was confusion and consternation. His aged mother was prostrate on a bed, moaning and wailing. His wife had gone into strong hysterics, from which she seemed reluctant to emerge, and a host of relatives and large breasted women neighbours fussed around unnecessarily, pretending to weep, secretly delighted. Rasoo'ls two adult sons, one a doctor, the other a vagabond, were sitting in the office of the Jail Superintendent, waiting to ask permission to bring the prisoner food from home. This was eventually refused.
    Captain Ashraf of Intelligence, who had replaced the unfortunate Major Murshed, went to the Brigadier with his report on Bulbul Hameed Khan's son. The Brigadier was frankly annoyed. Bulbul was an old Muslim Leaguer. He had even been regarded in the past as some kind of district 'leader'. On a few occasions they had met at social functions, and even exchanged views on the situation. Could it possibly be that Bulbul had turned into a rabid nationalist? It was so difficult, he sighed, properly to assess these Bengalees. One day they are this, and the next day that. The army's activities were gradually bringing out all the latent anti-Went Pakistani feelings in the Bengalee heart. Why should Bulbul be an exception? Take the case of sixty-year-old Dr Rahman Matin. A Muslim Leaguer, almost since the hour of his birth, and where was he now? On the other side of the border, a member of the Bangladesh government in exile in Calcutta! And his two sons? Both in west Pakistan, and very loyal! Sometimes. It was all too much for the Brigadier.
    "Well, Ashraf, what shall we do?"
    "Sir, as I really detest the man, I am prejudiced in the matter, and would rather not give an opinion."
    "My dear Ashraf, I am ordering you to give an opinion!"
    "In that case, Sir, I would suggest that we have him interrogated." The Brigadier raised a bushy eyebrow.
    "What kind of method do you think would yield the best results?"
    "Well, Sir, we could start mildly, because the man is definitely a coward, and should break at once."
    "Very well, go ahead. But I warn you, he might show unexpected resistance. You can never tell with these Bengalees, even of the Bulbul Khan variety. All fear and trembling on the outside, but sometimes resolute and tough within. In such an event, you may proceed without unnecessary delay to the Water Method."
    Major Ashraf saluted smartly and withdrew.
    At around noon, an army jeep arrived at the residence of Mr Khan, somewhat coyly named BULBUL LODGE. A lieutenant politely invited the prospective candidate to accompany him to Army Headquarters.
    "When can I expect to return home? Is this in connection with my nomination?"
    "It is. You can expect to return soon."
    And off they went.
    The news of Ghulam Rasool's incarceration in jail had spread throughout the town. Attention was now focused on Bulbul, and those interested in politics, and even those not much interested, gave it as their judgment that a newcomer to politics like Ghulam Rasool could never succeed in challenging superior skills in intrigue, deception, and back stabbing, all of which are second nature to old and experienced politicos such as Bulbul Hameed Khan. Poor Ghulam Rasool should never have attempted to outwit his partner, and now would have to pay for his folly. Of course nobody had an inkling as to why Ghulam Rasool had been arrested, but it was generally assumed that Bulbul had been instrumental in thus removing his rival from the scene.
    The moment the jeep arrived at Intelligence, and not Army headquarters, Bulbul almost soiled his pants. Adrenaline coursed through his veins like an angry torrent, and his temples began to throb, and perspiration broke out like dew drops on his brow.
    Major Ashraf questioned Bulbul about the whereabouts of his son.
    "I do not know where he is Major Sahib. Please do not harm me. I am a good man, and I know nothing at all, nothing."
    Major Ashraf used his gambits well.
    "It is reported that he has crossed the border, using your jeep." But here he erred.
    "My jeep? But my Jeep is in Dacca being repaired. It is due here tomorrow, in time for the election campaign."
    "Well then he used someone else's jeep. Now come out with the truth."
    And Bulbul told his story with great anxiety, and desperate sincerity. At the end of it, Major Ashraf accepted the story in full.
    But Bulbul was taking no chances. He concluded the interview by roundly denouncing his errant son.
    "He has always been disobedient. Never listened to me or his mother. Now he has brought disgrace and dishonour on the family name. He fully deserves the fate that awaits him. Traitor!"
    Bulbul was escorted home. There he found the comfort he was desperately in need of, when the fate of Ghulam Rasool was excitedly revealed by his tense family.
    Major Ashraf reported to the Brigadier.
    "Well, as I thought, the man is loyal. See that he gets the nomination will you? And also see that he is elected."

* * * * *

When Shahid returned with the Freedom Fighters, and the Indian Army, on the 16th of December 1971, he was hailed as an actual hero, and taken round the town in a procession, along with jubilant comrades brandishing automatic weapons.
But not for one moment did Bulbul feel ashamed. Not that he had much time. Before Shahid could reach BULBUL LODGE, some masked miscreants, who bore the family a grudge, dragged Bulbul outside his gate, into a deserted lane, and shot him with a heavy revolver.

* A religious gathering, at which verses from the Holy Koran are chanted.

Back to Contents