by Taj63622
Chapter 2
Francis was not alone in his travels, and was in the company of his photographer friend, Jonathan. They took residence in a small village located in a district of Dhaka, East Pakistan, to capture the conflicts of which small villages were bearing the brunt. Numerous photographs, images and interviews of local villagers and townsmen were taken, as well as of prominent political figures. They encountered no problems on their period of visit, and the East Pakistani’s took a great liking to the Englishmen. But it was in September of 1963, consequently the second last month of their stay in East Pakistan, when they met with a threatening incident, which divided a girl from her country before it should become victorious.
Let us begin with that night. It was the early days of Sarat season. The night air was as humid as it was in the day. The overpowering smell of jute travelled from the vast fields surrounding the village. It was a restless night, the sticky air too disturbing and distracting to permit them any sleep. Amidst their awakened eyes, they heard a loud knock at the door of their village house. It was their tour guide, Jameel. He appeared every sense of the word afraid, wrapped in a black shawl as if to conceal him from being noticed. He was flustered, and with a restless mouth, informed them that half the village had been set to fire. Jameel did not hesitate to speculate that it was most likely to be a supporter of Ayub Khan, the West Pakistani opposition leader, who set alight the village in response to Awami League gaining power. He warned that they were not free from danger here, and advised them to follow him out of the village and seek refuge in the nearest town, where security is higher. Francis and Jonathan, immediately set to the given advice, and led themselves to Jameel’s follow. Their belongings and equipment hastily packed, they walked into the inflamed night. It became apparent at once that they were not the only ones following the same advice. The sight was one of great worriment. Villagers, with their young children, were running about like helpless preys seeking shelter from an avaricious predator, which has been starved for months. Men and women passed buckets of water passed around to extinguish the infectious fires, but their efforts went to vain. Empty buckets dropped to the ground in defeat as villagers decide to abandon their village and seek shelter elsewhere, scurrying here and there in wilder and frantic manners. Fortunately, Amar managed to hold a rickshaw on standby beside the village, waiting to collect them.
Knowing the destination often made the journey easier, and the logics would have applied in their case too had they not belonged to a profession encouraging them to capture the unique sights. They were compelled to stop and capture the images that can heighten their careers. The village looked as if hell itself had spitted upon it, igniting all those that came into contact. Jameel’s warnings constantly revised their feet to follow their guide. It was this looking about, capturing, stopping and starting, which met their eyes with some burning houses not too far from them.
Both he and Jonathan were provoked to put their equipment into use once again, unknowingly attracted to the blazing scene, drawing nearer to the inflamed houses. Their cameras took pictures of one house after the other, ignorant to the rushing crowd, and negligent of villager’s cries and distress. The passion for their work placed them into such positions that others cries did passed their ears unheard, disabling their hands to offer help to those in need. Their interest would have remained unattached to the true surrounding had not Francis witnessed a rather startling incident through his camera lens. In the distance, a distressed girl stood before a blazing house. She was trying with every effort to enter the house, but the doors were caught ablaze. She obstinately tries to enter again, neither fearing for her life nor the raging fire, which peaked with the purposeful agenda, as if to barricade her from entering. She walked up to the prison-like windows beside the obstructing door, and yelled something through the metal bars. Helpless, she pulls away from the windows, and for the first time he sees her face, distraught but determined. Her hands flap about in the air, hailing each passer-by to help her. But all are ignorant to her existence let alone hear her voice, passing her without a moment's glance. She returns to the window, and yells helplessly again.
At last, he loosens his hold around the camera, hanging inattentively by his neck. A sudden compassion erupted through him, leading him to offer his assistance to the helpless girl. When he reached her, he found her face drenched in tears, and thus asks her who was trapped inside.
She did not understand him, but with the support of the Englishman's gestures, she understood precisely what he asked.
He did not know much Bengali, but his length of stay here understood him that when she said “maizee” and “baba”, she meant “mother and father”. The doors had caught in more flame, but he did not surrender to their determined agenda. Frantically, he looked around for something to hold the doors as wide as possible, eventually finding an upturned bedstead on the veranda. With the girl's help, he thrust it between the two inflamed doors, and trusting her with his camera, he put his life at risk, walking along the length of the bed, through the angry heat, until entering the house.
He yells for prisoner's attention, searching restlessly for the girl’s parents. The whole house was dark, and the only light aiding his support was that emitting from the fires, which had spread violently inside, blinding him to see anything without shielding his face with his hands. Thick smoke infused each room, choking him as if it was punishing him for crossing into this threshold. At length, he notices a locked room. He kicks the door open, entering the room, greeted with heavy clouds of smoke. He calls out to them, but hears no response.
Then, in its unforgiving imprisonment, he finds the girl’s parents. Her father lay motionless on the floor and her mother equally still, curled up beside him. He desperately feels for their pulse. He felt none. He searched again, insistent to find one. But it became apparent that death had shown no compassion.
Ignorant to the raging fire, he stayed helplessly knelt before the corpse, not knowing what face to show the girl, who waited expectantly to receive her parents. He would have perished away in those flames too had he not heard a sudden yelling.
Someone else was trapped inside.
Following the voice over the deafening flames, he meets a door at the very end of the house. Smoke was trailing from beneath the closed door. His grief quickly transformed into aggression, unleashing upon the door. He kicked them, determined to open them. When they do, he found the room alight, with a man immersed within the merciless flames. He led the man out, but the man did not follow. Instead, he made his way into his parents’ room. The fire obstructed his entrance, but he saw two still bodies encircled within the flame. He let out a violent cry of grief, and would have entered the death enticing room too had Francis not restrained the man from permitting to senselessness, dragging him out of the house. The man attempted, but struggled to release from his tight grip. Standing outside the cremating structure, the man now completely lost his senses, stubbornly fighting against the Englishman’s grasp to go inside and claim his parents. Seeing the man in desperate cries, the girl waiting outside too began to follow suit, knowing precisely the cause, helplessly holding him back before the insatiable fire should find the advantage to consume one more. The man surrendered at last, falling to the grounds in a cry echoing against the crackling heat, demanding the reasons to why it killed two innocent people. The girl wept on the man’s shoulder, while Francis oversaw the despairing scene, not knowing whether to console the mourning pair or let their grief run its course undisturbed. The images of the dead bodies flashed in his mind mercilessly and the echoing cries caused great discomfort to his ears. He wanted to pull away from the unsettling scene, but feet struggled to follow. What attraction was there in that scene that eyes should not look away and instead encourage the suffering of his heart?
Jonathan was also lost, searching for Jameel, who was searching for the two English journalists. The bright flames made it difficult to distinguish faces. At length, Jonathan and Jameel
untie, but Francis’ whereabouts remained unknown. How could they find the lost, which did not search for his lost companions nor did anything for his seekers to discover him?
After much effort and concern, Jameel located the wandering of the remaining Englishman. Keeping ignorant of the mournful pair before the alighted house, Jameel revises the English journalist of the dangers and impracticality of staying in this village. But Francis did not appear to take heed to his words. Desperate, Jonathan and Jameel both forcefully apply their words upon Francis, pulling him by the arm and distancing him from the sunken grievers. The whole time, his gaze remained upon the particular scene, even when he was taken to such a distance that the two mourners appeared like ashes amidst the hell-like scene. The girl’s distraught face flashed before his stunned eyes and the man’s painful cries deafened his ears. The images of the dead bodies etched into his very lids. He had no difficulty in recalling the torment he underwent when he left the bodies there, unclaimed, soon to be engulfed by the fire. In the desperate effort to vanish the tormenting images, he abruptly turns away from the cremating grounds. His effort went to vain. Images of the dead bodies became more prominent.
At last, they reached the perimeter of the village after an unarguably trying walk. Jameel looked about anxiously for the rickshaw he ordered to be on standby, but none came into his view. How would they? The sheer volume of people, all of whom were franticly fleeing the burning scene and desperately seeking to escape the disintegrating grounds, had discouraged the wise rickshaw riders from making their stop. They feared for their own safety. The few drivers that were compassionate enough to provide assistance, halted their rickshaw, and offered to carry as many passengers their strength allowed them. But people fled their village in such fright and unaccountable numbers that they neglected to consider the rickshaw’s incapability, seizing their good fortunes to find a rickshaw and flocking themselves on the crippling transport as if it were a scared stone they could not leave untouched.
In their failed attempt to hail any transport, Jameel walked them a further good distance. Empty rickshaws scurried passed, fearful should someone stop them, whilst a few others stopped before they conclude their journey. The weight the wheeling transports carried had exhausted drivers for them to continue cycling. Thankfully, Francis and his two companions were under no such dependency to have any halt their journey. With complaining limbs, they continued to walk when at length they met with an open-back lorry. Seeing three nightwalkers wandering alone along the quiet road at this hour had the drivers come to a stop. They enquired with interest what has them traversing these roads in this strange manner, to which Jameel promptly recalled the night’s events leading them here. The lorry drivers were conveniently making their travel into town for work purposes, and so accepting the offer of a handsome fare, they permitted the three night-wanderers a ride in their vehicles to the main town. The remainder of the night saw them sat at the roofless back of the lorry, taking them into the town where they could receive better help.
