My brother would visit, carrying on his shoulders memories of childhood and fragments of our old home, the smell of hasnuhana wrapped around him. The heady smell of those flowers will give me warmth in my distant, frozen exile, where only memories will keep me alive.
38.
I have rarely, if ever, fraternized with the famous. Well-known people have usually carefully avoided me, or I have stayed away from them out of fear or reluctance. This is why I could live on my own the way I did—live with the people, among them. I have always considered these simple folks as my own—the vendor, the vegetable seller, the fishmonger, the young boys cleaning and packing the fish, the sober man from the tea shop, my laundryman Sanjay, Mangala from Mallikpur or Saptami from Sonarpur, the beautiful Muna, Gargi who used to visit from Kalyani, or Manasi, or my old gardener who I would ask questions about the wild flowers only for him to inform me with a smile that the flowers were nameless. As far as the eye can see, there is a field of dreams full of similarly nameless people. Where would I go leaving all of them behind?
39.
My sentinels often stare at me in wonder, trying to fathom why I am languishing here all alone, away from the world. When they fail to understand, they shed a tear or two in compassion, and whisper in my ear—how does one survive without freedom? Waiting in the darkness, my bones have begun to crumble. I have learnt to be patient, amassed so much of it that it brooks no challenge any longer. The true test now, however, is for the government—to see when their wounds finally start to fester and become infected. Now is the time for the reaping, the gathering of the fruits of intolerance and dogma they have so lovingly nurtured. Some will nibble, while others, ravenous like whales, will gobble things down. I will wait, with fledgling hope, for the day when they begin stocking their ill-gotten gains in their cavernous barns. For, their spoils will beget serpents, and monsters that will consume the very masters who created them! Such a day is in sight, when faced with their weakness, and their lack of foresight, they will finally realize how they have inadvertently been lying to themselves.
40.
It makes no difference to anyone if I am in jail or not—so many people are put in jail, many of them innocent like me; so many are sentenced to life, so many who die every day. My fate then is hardly special. Many states are known to have put their writers through hell; jail is hardly something to write home about in comparison. Or at least, that’s what the important people say to each other. If one fine day news of my sudden, mysterious death reaches them, I suspect they will be quite relieved. I wonder how many people will try to find out how it happened; will there be people at the protest march? Experience has taught me to recognize power. However, exile has taught me to recognize people. Sometimes, I feel ashamed to have lived and loved in this spineless nation. Except for a handful of honest and brave people who will live in my heart till the end, I expect nothing from this country any more.
41.
If only for the sake of the experience, everyone should live in exile at some point of time in their life. It is only in enforced captivity that one can truly learn to appreciate freedom. I have been fighting for that freedom since I was a child, so I understand just how necessary and valuable it is. I have seen what life can be and so I have fought for my right to live; otherwise, I may as well have given up like so many others and chosen to live in servitude. Even those who revel in their freedom do not know its true relevance. And those who lived and died ignominiously as slaves never understood how truly hapless they were.
I have fought to teach others how to fight, to show others what freedom is, that one must break one’s shackles oneself without depending on others. The theocracy has chosen to celebrate a lie by punishing me. Numerous women are caged by patriarchy inside their own homes; numerous people are sacrificed to the cause of fundamentalism. Freedom is a very rare commodity in this wretched country.
42.
You are playing these political games with a simple, honest individual because you cannot condone her speaking the truth any more; nor can you stand her honesty. You have driven her out of the country, scared her into a plane, forced her to leave her home and everything else behind—the book she was reading is still lying open, her notepad left askew, the ink perhaps has begun to dry from the pen. You are trying to silence an author’s voice. You don’t wish to let her return home, having incarcerated her as if you have caught a murderer. You have kept her like you would keep someone on death row, hidden her away from the world and even herself.
You do not wish to allow a writer to think, do not wish to let her write, or even let her live. Your actions are brazen enough for the world to see. But you hardly have to worry! After all, it is your pet authors and historians who will write a golden history for you!
43.
I live in a room where the windows are barred. I cannot open them even if I wanted to, cannot part the drapes to peer outside. In fact, I am not allowed to open the door, cross the threshold and venture outside. The only other inhabitants in the room are two lizards. No human, not even a humanoid, is allowed to enter this room. I live in a room where I often have trouble breathing.
The room is silent, except for the occasional sound of someone desperately banging their head against the wall. There is no one to take note, except for the lizards who keep staring. I often wonder if they feel sad for me—perhaps they do. Do they cry when they see me cry? I live in a room where I don’t want to be, where I am forced by democracy to spend my days in darkness, uncertainty and anxiety. In this room, secularism is killing me, bit by bit, every day. My beloved India has forced me into this room.
The day they clean out from the room the remains of my body—putrid flesh, crumbling bones—will these busy people pause for a second to see? Will death finally set me free? The lizards will stare in bafflement the entire day; perhaps they will be sad. Government officers will wrap my body in the flag of democracy and bury me. I will finally have a room of my own where there will be no thresholds, and where I will finally be able to breathe.
44.
If you ever face exile, if someone ever wishes to put you in shackles, remember me. Remember me if you ever find yourself behind locked doors, when there is not a soul around to hear your cries for help. When you try to speak but cannot seem to form words, or even if you do, no one bothers to stop and listen, remember me. Just like you, I had cried for someone to come and unlock the door and take off my shackles. No one came. And those who did were too afraid of the consequences to bother going ahead.
When you are desolate, remember I had been desolate too. No matter how softly you tread, darkness might consume you regardless. At that moment, you and I, we will be echoes waiting in vain in the gathering dark for an answering call.
45.
So heinous am I, so treacherous, such is the magnitude of my crimes against humanity, that I do not even deserve a country. So you, my country, have set out to rob me of my home. I have travelled from one corner of the globe to another, across nations, forests and oceans, across cultures, grasping at straws and blindly searching for a country to call my own. And when, weary of my quest, I have finally come back to you, you seize my last refuge in one violent attack and cast me out! Tell me, my country, by what name do I call you then?
You choke me with your boots, gouge out my eyes, tear out my tongue and whip the skin off my back. You break my feet and crush my skull, put me in chains, all the while wishing for my death. And yet, my country, I remember you only with love. I am a traitor because I have spoken the truth; I am a traitor because you wish to march in a cavalcade of liars. You have warned me about my humanity, asked me to bury it or spread it in the air, and told me I will never have a country. You, my country, have broken the spirit of the nation within me.
46.
Then let them be free. Throw open the arsenals for them to stock up on guns and swords and bombs and the holy word of Islam. Let them go out into the world and behead the sinful non-believers. Let them kill the women o
r let them put the women, heads bowed, in burqas and force them back inside. Let there be rape, often, to ensure that only sons are born. Let all men, from Argentina to Iceland, from Malaysia to Morocco, from Bangladesh to Bahrain, anoint themselves as Taliban. Let our statesmen pay homage at the holy altar of Islam and crown each and every terrorist. Let our statesmen fold their hands in prayer and let the fundamentalists absolve them of their sins.
Excerpts from a Diary
24 November
There is an interesting article by Karan Thapar in the Hindustan Times (11 March 2008), ‘Do we pass the Taslima test?’: ‘The India I would be proud of would welcome Taslima Nasreen and grant her sanctuary. The India I’m embarrassed by wreaks violence on the streets of Kolkata, vandalises art schools in Baroda and threatens peaceful worshippers in Sirsa. Alas, that is the India I live in.’
A wonderful article, it had begun on a different note though: ‘Taslima Nasreen may not be a great novelist. She may even be motivated by a quest for publicity. And many say she deliberately and calculatedly compromises other people by revealing their personal secrets. But those are literary or moral judgements. No doubt each of us will accept or reject them as we deem fit. The question is, do we have a right to silence her voice because of them?’
It is easy to guess that Thapar has not read my writing, but he has nonetheless chosen to take a stand on behalf of a writer’s freedom of expression. Those who have read my works, who know me personally, are aware of what I write about and why. Rumours have always been fanned—ever since Bangladesh—that I write to garner publicity, that I am not an author of any consideration, that I write simply to stir trouble. After all, there is not much difference between India and Bangladesh, at least not in the air we breathe. Consequently, it would indeed be very difficult to throw off the spell that is in this air and encourage a new set of beliefs and convictions. Some choose to undertake this difficult endeavour, while others give themselves up to the spell. If I had ever been unduly concerned about myself, about my image, then I might have shown that same care for my writing and would perhaps have made the effort to get it translated into English and other languages. Unfortunately, I have always been a bit indifferent to such things. I have never been able to keep any literary agents. Pirated copies of my books have been sold all over India and Bangladesh; people have done whatever they have wished to with my books. So many people across the world have wanted to read my books but have never had the opportunity.
27 November
‘. . . all decisions had already been made to have Taslima Nasrin expelled from West Bengal. This decision, and the way it has been implemented, is completely unethical and unwarranted. Firstly, there was no need to send Taslima to another state for the sake of her security. The government could as easily have arranged for the same in this city. It would not be a stretch then to assume that the reason cited for sending her away is simply an excuse to cover up the fact that she has been expelled to appease the sentiments of her fundamentalist protestors. Secondly, the way this expulsion has been handled is nothing short of offensive. This nexus between the government, political parties and powerful members of both, has been an enduring legacy for us and it points towards a larger sickness that has enveloped society and which is completely contrary to the ideals of a modern, liberal democracy. Thirdly, these actions have made it amply clear that we have surrendered to the unjust demands of the radicals, and this perhaps is the most worrying aspect of the entire thing. The rulers of West Bengal have, time and again, boasted about their secular world view, but when push comes to shove, they invariably and happily bow down to Islamic fundamentalists. The recent incident with Taslima Nasrin has further foregrounded this dangerous trend. The “secular” rulers of West Bengal are, in fact, not appeasing Muslims at all; they are appeasing Muslim militants instead. The valued advisers of the party believe that this strategy will help them in guarding the Muslim vote bank. However, fanning such illegal and dangerous actions for the sake of vote bank politics can only end badly.’—Anandabazar Patrika
Whether they stand by me otherwise or not, Anandabazar Patrika had been steadfast in its support ever since I was sent away from West Bengal. Star Ananda (now ABP Ananda) too had been constantly reporting about me, and holding discussions and debates about the issue; in fact, I was recently interviewed by their anchor, Suman Dey. In another such interview by Milan Datta of Anandabazar, the latter wanted me to tell him everything, starting from the time I returned from Hyderabad—how I was confined to my house, what was said to me, how I was turned out of Kolkata, and all other relevant details. He kept asking me questions and I kept answering till a slowly increasing din of voices abruptly interrupted us. News arrived that Milan Datta was being summoned. He went, consulted them, and came back to inform me that Aveek Sarkar has asked for the interview to be stopped after having a word with foreign minister Pranab Mukherjee. The latter had requested that news related to me or my interviews not be telecast for some time, assuring all and sundry that he will be getting me back to Kolkata in another fifteen days.
Star Ananda has consequently stopped all discussions and debates, thereby ensuring the natural demise of any possibility of developing public opinion in my favour.
28 November
‘I would urge everyone, especially the Muslim intellectuals, to pause and consider one point about the controversy surrounding Taslima Nasrin. The woman has not pelted stones at those opposing her; she has not set cars on fire, or threatened to commit murder either. A section of the intellectuals believe that what she has written about the oppression of Muslim women is un-Islamic. However, if she is not allowed to write what she believes, how will her critics be able to aptly respond to the un-Islamic accusations she has levelled at their faith? This will only jeopardize the democratic machinery and the worst fallout of that would be felt invariably among the minority communities. Thus, it is quite obvious that Taslima’s struggle for being able to freely write and express her opinions is ultimately a struggle for preservation of the ideals of democracy.’—Sunando Sanyal
Since yesterday, news reports had stated that Pranab Mukherjee was supposed to speak about me in the Lok Sabha (on 28 November 2007). I waited to hear him, and this is what he said: ‘Throughout history, India has never refused shelter to those who have come and sought our protection. This civilizational heritage that is now a government policy will continue and India will provide shelter to Ms Nasrin. Those who have been granted shelter here have always undertaken to eschew political activities in India or any action that may harm India’s relation with friendly countries. It is also expected that the guest will refrain from activities and expressions that may hurt the sentiments of our people. While these guests are in India, the Union and the state governments provide them protection—this policy will also apply in Ms Taslima Nasrin’s case.’
‘A seasoned diplomat,’ my brother commented.
A drowning creature will always grab at reeds. The news that seemed the biggest to me was I would not be turned out of this country; that I would be allowed to stay. I had hoped for another stand though, something that would sound somewhat like this: ‘India is a generous and welcoming nation that has welcomed, from time to time, people of various cultural backgrounds, enriching itself in the process. Taslima is an oppressed and banished author, this is her motherland, and we honour her desire to spend her life, if not in the East, then at least in the western half of Bengal. India is a secular country, the world’s biggest democracy, and its people have the freedom to express their opinions in a democratic fashion. What happened on the streets of Kolkata on 21 November was nothing short of barbaric. The first and most important condition of a secular democracy is the freedom of speech and expression. Like everyone else, Taslima too has the right to partake of these. Thus, it is necessary that the government take adequate actions against those who took to the streets to loot, plunder, commit arson and create a law-and-order situation in order to rob her of her fundamental rights. The governm
ent must also ensure that such incidents do not recur in the future, and that the ideals of a secular democracy are not put at risk. There will be an investigation as to why Taslima had to be removed from West Bengal without her consent, and those at fault will be punished. The rioters of 21 November will also be given exemplary punishment. Tomorrow, Taslima will be sent back to Kolkata from Delhi and the central government will ensure her complete security along with the state government, not just in West Bengal but elsewhere too. Not just Taslima, but every citizen and guest in this country, and anyone who seeks asylum here, will be governed by the same rules.’
This is what I had hoped would happen. I am not entirely sure what exactly happened instead. The only relief is that perhaps I will finally be granted a residence permit.
30 November
‘The issue surrounding Taslima Nasrin has ripped off the hitherto carefully maintained secular façade of the CPI(M), which had survived Singur, Nandigram, years of police violence, and the party-endorsed tradition of seizing power through the point of a gun . . . Let her wander, in various states, in various foreign nations, while we sit here counting our ballot boxes. Let us measure till the final decimal what is more convenient for us—to let her stay in Kolkata or to keep her in exile. Whatever it is, it should help us win the Muslim votes. Only through the litmus test of elections can we determine when we should assist the extremists and when we should march in protest against them.’—Ashish Ghosh
Exile Page 13
