Exile

by Taslima Nasrin

  Enamul Kabir called from Birbhum this morning. No political party has yet condemned the CPI(M), however. No one has criticized their actions, or stated that it had been unethical to drive an author out as they had.

  I deleted a few lines from Dwikhandito today and the devastating news was published with much pomp and fanfare across the nation.

  2 December

  The chief of the cantonment, a seemingly decent and educated individual, had come for a courtesy visit a while back. He confessed to have never even dreamt that he would one day meet the author of Lajja. That is how most people know me: as the author of Lajja. There is hardly an educated Indian who hasn’t ever read the book, and Penguin has even declared it the most sold book in Indian publication history.

  The officer’s surname was Sen. Quite obviously, and with a surge of joy, I had taken him to be a Bengali, only to learn later that I had been mistaken.

  4 December

  ‘She does not have any choices. She is just like a person who has now got the protection of the mafia which is the state in some way. She has nowhere to go. She has no protection. She just has to blunder her way through this kind of humiliation and I really feel for her.’—Arundhati Roy30

  Today was my brother’s twenty-fifth wedding anniversary. Every year he usually celebrates the day but this exiled life in Delhi has made it impossible and useless to observe festivities. Instead, he was ready early in the morning, packed and raring to leave immediately after lunch. He is going to Kolkata. The flight will reach the city at five in the afternoon. We had come away together but he is going back alone. I could not go with him because it is not possible. When he was leaving I could not even look at him, my heart was about to burst out of my chest. Perhaps he had been sad too. But what would he have done staying here? Does anyone like being in hiding?

  5 December

  ‘Secularism is not appeasing fundamentalism and terrorism. The November 21 incidents could have led to communal riots in Kolkata. Fundamentalism, whether Muslim or Hindu, is a challenge which must be taken very seriously. The Taslima Nasrin issue is no longer about Taslima Nasrin the writer. It has revealed a much larger conspiracy in the making.

  ‘It was a test case, and the CPM’s decision has conveyed to the Islamic fundamentalists that they have won the round one.’—Bhaskar Roy31

  Three things of note today: the editorial in The Hindu,32 an op-ed article in Anandabazar, and a book by Sarvepalli Radhakrishnan in which a photo of Muhammad Nabi had caused such outrage in Kolkata that the Delhi-based publishers have had to apologize. The editorial in The Hindu has pointed out how the section 295(A) had also been used against me in Bangladesh. For the past fifteen years, I have been trying to get this draconian law against the freedom of speech revoked, but no one wants to listen to the voices of the few of us who dissent.

  The Anandabazar op-ed piece has simply astounded me. Such complete reversal of position over the space of only a few days has left me dazed and confused! Kalyan Sanyal has written against me, or perhaps he has been made to write. If he has done so simply for the sake of a debate, I might try and understand it, but if these are indeed his genuine views against the freedom of speech, then it is a matter of grave concern. I believe Anandabazar will not write or publish anything in my favour for the foreseeable future. Sanyal has opined that not all art is pure, just as not all forms of politics are dirty. The politics practised by the CPI(M) is thus not dirty, just as my writings are not pure. Since my writing is tainted, those in positions of power have the right to drive me out and there is nothing unethical about it. Sanyal has gone on to state how he detests what I write as well as my style, and consequently he sees nothing wrong in my exile. He had protested the government’s actions in Nandigram but in this issue he has nothing but support for them.

  I have gradually come to the conclusion that most artists, writers and intellectuals share Kalyan Sanyal’s views. Otherwise, why have there been no protests against the injustices committed against me by the CPI(M)?

  6 December

  Today was the fifteenth anniversary of the demolition of the Babri Masjid. I had written Lajja fifteen years back. How time flies! Bhalobasa33 was born fifteen years ago, on 6 December 1992. Apparently, some members of the party Harkat-ul-Jihad have entered Delhi in a car today through Deoband in Uttar Pradesh. Their objective—to cause massive bomb blasts in certain key, heavily populated areas in order to intimidate people. As far as I remember, the Harkat-ul-Jihad had originally been formed in Bangladesh at the height of the Islamic radicals’ protests against me. I am yet to fathom how taking innocent lives benefits the agenda of these people.

  I spoke to Prasanta Roy over the phone for a long time. He is hopeful about protests on my behalf in Kolkata. I had to remind him that protests would have happened long back if they were meant to. Everyone saw how I was treated, how I was driven out, how I was mentally tortured for days before that—there was not a single protest march despite all that. Only a few of my friends marching, holding placards! Do I not have anyone? Even if not for me, is there no one to protest against an act of barbarism? There have been a few stray articles in some newspapers, but they have not been powerful enough to incite people to protest.

  Tapan Raychaudhuri34 had called and I broke down over the phone. I begged him to take me back to Kolkata, and if that was not possible, if West Bengal refused to take me back, then to send me back to Bangladesh. Quite possibly the activists and religious leaders would just come and murder me one day. That would be the best for everyone. If nothing else, it would absolve me of the sin I had committed by hoping that a foreign country could ever become my home. At least it would save me from having to see the people I love laughing at my misfortune.

  My head is about to explode in pain. It is increasingly becoming impossible to bear. I had begged my captors to cast me back into Bangladesh, to wait for the final verdict there. They heard, their voices urging me to confess more as if they had been waiting for a long time to get me to this place. It reminded me of a similar incident when, like them, a top government official in Rajasthan House had told me I should always stay where I would be safe. I had asked him where it would be safe. He had replied that there was no dearth of safe places in the world. ‘Do you mean in the West? In Europe or America?’ I had asked. He had nodded and said, ‘Why not!’ I had been scared but I had told him firmly, ‘I will not go abroad.’

  7 December

  Sharmila called from Kolkata in the morning to tell me about an article written by Joy Goswami35 for the weekend supplement of Sangbad Pratidin.

  How does it feel when an author is forced to withdraw her work? I can but imagine the immense pain Taslima is going through because of this decision. None of us has ever had to live in exile for days on end, in foreign countries, surrounded at all times by security personnel. None of us has ever been driven out of our own homes. None of us has ever had to witness our books being banned systematically even before they can reach the public. None of us knows how it is to live with a death sentence dangling over our heads.

  We can criticize Taslima, discuss what she should or should not have written or said, and even whisper about how all her actions are motivated by a lust for publicity. Yes, we can allege that even after being fully aware that an insane, obsessive fanatic might attack her any day, she has done everything to garner publicity. We have said as much.

  Joy has gone on to compare my situation to Galileo’s, who had been threatened with being burnt at the stake till he was forced to capitulate under pressure, recant his ideas and admit that the church had been right all along about the sun revolving round the earth. Galileo may have buckled under pressure, he may have admitted that the earth was stationary, but it did not necessarily mean that the earth too gave in under pressure and followed suit.

  I called Shibnarayan Ray and found out that he was not doing too well, neither physically nor mentally. He told me he had been too unwell to write and I advised him to consult a doctor and have his bloo
d pressure checked. It seems enough care is not being taken of him, and like most people in old age, he seems to have shrunk, saying things like, ‘It’s been long enough, this life.’ I reminded him that he was only eighty-six while Jyoti Basu was nearly ninety-three. I also asked him what I had done to deserve this fate. He replied, ‘Who has told you only crime deserves punishment? You have hurt the self-interests of the ruling elite, and so you have been punished.’

  An article in the New York Times made me very happy today. There was a report of a girl in Saudi Arabia who had been kidnapped and gang-raped. According to the laws of Islam, of course, the rapists were not punished but the girl was—lashes and jail, the usual story. Indeed, such heartening news! In Sudan, a school mistress was punished because she had named one of the class teddy bears Muhammad. I was punished because the fanatics did not like what I had written in a book somewhere. Apparently, most Muslims are not religious fanatics! A handful of extremists have hijacked the entire faith and except for them, there is no dearth of goodness in Islam. I have the same question as the author of the article: where are these moderate and modern Muslims? Why don’t they ever take to the streets to protest against the riots, violence, rape and pillage committed by the zealots? How is it possible that only a few Muslims are behind all these incidents and the majority of the population is just silently observing everything? Sometimes I feel that the ‘moderates’ do not even exist. There are two types of Muslims: the believers and the non-believers. Since most are believers, the non-believers are much fewer in number. Some of the believers wear robes, fez caps, long beards, while others wear different clothes. Some of them regularly visit mosques and observe fasts during Ramadan, while others do not. That is all there is to it. Hence, when some believers commit a crime against humanity, there is no protest against them from the other faithful. The moderates, consequently, are absent. They are absent because they do not exist.

  Many people called today—Keya from Patna, Enamul from Birbhum, Muzaffar from 24 Parganas. Besides, I received a letter from a friend that has made me very happy. Panchu has written a letter to me, an email, after months without any news. A close friend, the sole reason behind this long gap had been my hurt. He has written: ‘I know you are safe. But it pains me to think how devastated you might be. Will our world then be ruled henceforth by religion, dogma, and electoral politics only? My blood runs cold thinking what degree of state-sponsored terrorism you must have faced to have decided to withdraw three pages from your book. I can only hope that these dark days will pass, that you will be yourself again, and your words relentless and undaunted. Take care, as much as is possible in such dark times.’ I wrote back: ‘Even in this pain, your letter has brought me some amount of joy. I don’t know what will happen. I want to return to Kolkata but the progressive city is not willing to take me back. I am drowning in uncertainty and despair; perhaps, they secretly wish to prolong my agony to such an extent that I will be forced to leave the country or commit suicide.’ He wrote back: ‘Which city are you calling progressive, Taslima? The Kolkata where a party carrying red flags shamelessly uses fundamentalism as a tool to control Muslim votes? The city where the other parties with red flags cannot create a powerful united front to protest against the atrocities committed or condoned in the name of politics? The city which fails to understand the severity of state-sponsored terrorism that can force a writer to tear up three pages of her writings? Will you call such a city progressive? You will be able to find justice one day for these terrible crimes. Even amidst this growing darkness, I believe that fundamentalism cannot have the last word.’

  It cannot? In Bangladesh it has been thirteen years that fundamentalism has had the last word. I have not been able to return home, and what’s left for Bangladesh to say? West Bengal too has gone silent, and it does not matter in the very least what its last word is. Silence, rejection, disdain, insults and fundamentalism—these are the last words.

  The room that I inhabit now has a sliver of a balcony attached to it, next to a terrace. I generally do not wander on to the terrace for fear that someone might see me and something might happen. In fact, I have been told not to go to the terrace. That is fine; I am used to being under house arrest. I have spent days, months like that, both at home and abroad. There is hardly an ordeal I have not been through in the name of security. In order to be able to write about breaking shackles, I have had to wear them on my feet, always!

  8 December

  ‘I think the Taslima Nasrin case has tested, and will test, the integrity of the Left intelligentsia even more than Nandigram.’—Ramachandra Guha36

  Buddhadeb Bhattacharya had gone to attend a programme organized to commemorate the fifteenth anniversary of the demolition of the Babri Masjid. He told the people gathered there that Ram was merely an idea, a figment of the poet’s imagination. The mythical Ram-setu had been a natural one, and the controversy surrounding it was simply madness. I was left astounded hearing this on television yesterday. Only a few days back he had bowed down to the dictates of Islamic radicals, had not uttered a peep about their barbaric acts all over the city, had in fact defended their right to protect their religious sentiments. Instead of punishing the guilty he made sure that an innocent person had to leave the city. And here he was, hurting the religious sentiments of the Hindus!

  9 December

  ‘The greatest, most fundamental right promised to any thinking individual is the right to not agree with the status quo. You cannot dictate to an author—you can write thus far, and no more! It is the same as telling them not to write. In the end it boils down to the simple fact that you have the freedom to speak and express your opinion as long as you don’t step on the toes of those in power. After that, no more! Freedom cannot exist without this perpetual threat, this covert permission to pace in your designated cell.

  ‘There can be no threshold to the freedom of speech, no frontiers. Otherwise, any powerful group, be it the state, a religious sect or any random upstart, will be able to reassert its thresholds, at its convenience declare any work of art anywhere in the world as something that has hurt someone’s religious sentiments, and then let the bullets loose.’—Chandril Bhattacharya

  I wrote a letter to Buddhadeb Bhattacharya. It will not be possible to send it to him, of course, but I still felt like writing one.

  Dear Mr Buddhadeb Bhattacharya,

  I hope my letter finds you well. We have previously met, and at one point of time, we have also had a few conversations. I have always known you to be an absolutely warm person. I remember one time in Nandan, when you had warned me against flying to Paris via Mumbai, suggesting I fly via Delhi instead. The reason? A group of Islamic radicals had been protesting against me in Mumbai, threatening to burn the airport down. I had almost agreed to it when people like Shabana Azmi, Javed Akhtar, Javed Anand and Teesta Setalvad began insisting that I must not cancel my Mumbai visit to take a stand against the unjust demands of the radicals, to show them that I was not willing to cower under fire. Otherwise, it would be like handing the victory over to them. Realizing that you had convinced me otherwise, they had approached you to convince you how important it was that I fly via Mumbai. You had understood and relented.

  We have only met a couple of times since then, at Nandan. Once while attending a sarod recital by Ustad Amjad Ali Khan, when we exchanged pleasantries and Ustadji warmly welcomed both of us before beginning his performance. That was back in 2002 when, certain that I was going to spend the rest of my life in Kolkata, I had been searching frantically for an apartment. You had told me that there would be no problems in my buying the flat allocated for the state minister Gautam Deb in Udita. I had been ready too, paperwork had been sent to Delhi or Mumbai, and the Reserve Bank was going to give its approval. The approval had never arrived, no paperwork had come, no apartment, nothing. Our paths never crossed after that and I could never reach you again. Your friends, who had been my friends too, had suddenly grown distant.

  I remember those days, and
it is still incredible after all these years how much things have changed. I remember back then I had been at Harvard, pursuing a fellowship on secularism, when news reached me that you had banned Dwikhandito. I had been shell-shocked and had asked my friends back in Kolkata if it was true. They had assured me it was. I have been brought up amidst leftist ideology. I have grown up reading the great leftist Russian authors. In Dwikhandito, I had written about my fights against fundamentalism, about feminism and women’s rights, about equality! So, how was the book contrary to the Left’s stance? I had heard you admit that a handful of intellectuals told you to ban the book and you too had arrived at the same conclusion after reading the book yourself. Is that so? Had you meant what you had said, that what I had written had been wrong? If you hadn’t, then what had made you so anxious that there could be a riot in the city? There had been no sign of a riot. After the ban was revoked by the high court, the book had sold for months and years. There were no riots! Not a single Muslim came out in protest! One of the reasons cited for banning the book had been that it would disrupt communal harmony and cause widespread communal violence. When the high court found this insufficient reason for a ban, stating that the two communities were in no way involved, you had come up with yet another reason—that my book would hurt religious sentiments. A three-judge bench had still voted in favour of my book. For your kind information, Mr Bhattacharya, the verdict had not been pronounced by me. I had never appealed to the court against the ban in the first place. Despite your role in the banning of my book, my respect and admiration for you never declined. I have tried meeting you, but in vain. You have kept all the avenues barricaded. People close to you, who had also been close to me, became strangers suddenly, but I still did not lose my faith in you. I had formed a cine club called Bhalo Chhobi (Good Films), hoping to screen some good films I had collected from across the world, for the cinephiles of Kolkata. Anshu Sur had assured me the possibility of screening these films at Nandan. However, after collecting nearly 2000 brilliant films, I was informed that I was prohibited there. As foolish as I was, I understood quite late in the day that I was prohibited from all government spaces. That I had no right to attend any festivals organized by the government, let alone participate. I became so very lonely that day!