Jan 10 is a major event in the list of public events of Bangladesh history. Sk. Mujib, who was interned in Pakistan during 1971, was released after the war was over formally after the Pakistani forces surrendered on December 16. He flew into Dhaka on January 10 1972.

This also meant that from December 16 to January 10, 1972, nobody was really in charge of the government. It's true the exile government had become the national government but it didn't have the clout or authority to manage the very chaotic situation in post liberation Dhaka let alone Bangladesh. To call it chaos would be an understatement as life, livelihood and the rest were in a state of total threats of many kinds. Just about anything could happen. And sadly, much did happen.

The Dilu Road scenario

Dilu Road, where we lived, in the 70s was a mixed class neighbourhood. Most paras were but Dilu had two storied residential bungalows, two or single stories affairs but also slum areas providing not just domestics and workers but also just an urban space a bit more shared than some and like most similar areas.

It had several homes where FFs based in Dhaka were active from and some were shelters of many kinds too. Almost all were family quarters and the very vulnerable- Hindus- were living in many homes without any problem. Nobody even felt much threatened for some reason in giving shelter to them. People of course knew that something was on but nobody bothered.

Let's face it, Dhaka felt safe compared to the rural areas in most cases where life was often uncertain. Even our home had a Hindu family staying with us -Moron Chandra Das, his wife and kid- but several men were also staying with my uncles' next door. One was Bipin babu, an elderly signboard painter whose main problem was drinking. He could often in an intoxicated state lumber off to the main road and everyone feared he would be caught and killed. He did wander off once but what did happen is a story for another day.

There was also a family of Urdu speakers - Mr. Ahmeds- who lived in a road corner home, a recently retired Customs official with five daughters. I knew the eldest-Bilquis apa, who was from our school Shaheen and had done very well in her exams. They were part of the para and nobody saw them as any alien. Even when the Pak army surrendered and crowds cheered there was no threat or nothing towards them.

The day of the raid

To be frank, it never crossed our mind. But it must have entered some minds for on the 9th of November a car full of young FFs raised the house. I have to call them FFs as they were that but I wish I could call them something else.

The family jumped the wall and took refuge in the house next door. People were on the street but could do nothing because they were armed and the rest had none. Everyone silently stood by as the house was looted. They left after the job was done and the weeping, terrified family and the shocked neighbours just stood there, helpless and unable to act.

People had gotten used to looting by then but when within 30 minutes they returned again, there was no confusion about what they were looking for. The ladies jumped the wall again and hid in the neighbours as the visitors screamed and shouted, saying those who had given them shelter would not be spared. And then our personal historical drama began against the backdrop of the bigger one unfolding all over Bangladesh.

The car went around looking for the family but after half an hour gave up and left. Those who had given refuge came to my parents and sought help. "We can't keep them anymore. Please give them shelter, we can't do that anymore. "My parents too were scared but they couldn't refuse shelter to a neighbor they had known for 20 years. The Ahmeds took refuge in a downstairs room of our house. And the next round of drama began.

The night of Fear

That night in which I guarded the family who were now almost mad with fear, expecting to be handed over to the hunters is the scariest in my life. I knew if they came and tried to enter our house I would have no option except to to fire from my double barelied hunting gun, no match for their automatics and of course in the end all of us would die. But I had no option. I had been pushed by history, many events coming together to produce that night. Many histories were active and we were in control of none.

If I were asked, would I have chosen to be a brave one, my answer would be No. No one wants to choose to die. But I was left with no alternative but to pick up a nearly useless gun and stand guard as history conspired with our household values and together produced that night.

The night was full of sound and fury but signified so much. It was the last night which was out of control and everyone was taking advantage of the chaotic freedom one had seen for the last month or so. Gunfire noises shared the decibels along with full throated slogans. Some were welcoming Sk. Mujib home, others were more defiant saying that the blood of martyrs won't go in vain, wherever that meant.

They were all very true but so were the activities that Dhaka had seen since Pakistan surrendered- of looting, vandalism and worse. Nobody can be proud of what happened but it showed that history was a strange machine, capable of complex equations good and bad, beyond human control, sometimes understanding.

They did come, around 2 at night. I called out to my parents and they came and stood with me on the balcony watching the gate and the night. They were in the car and kept going round in the area till the parked in front of the gate. We waited and they also waited and for over half an hour this went on till they suddenly left. We didn't move for long but after almost an hour returned inside for some terribly disturbed sleep. In the morning my father managed to find a much safer sanctuary in the Ispahani Colony at Moghbazar. We never saw them again but we shall never ever forget them or the night.

Where did history begin, when did history end? We may or may not know but in the end, history touches us all. If glory is to be shared, so much shame.

Postscript

Years later we learnt that they had not entered our house because they thought we must have a lot of automatic weapons and people which would resist them. Or else how could we have given shelter to their prey? Their misunderstanding or whatever saved our lives.

Three months after the incident, while fooling around with guns and live ammo, the leader of the gang that came at night was accidently shot to death.

All are part of history.