Exile

by Taslima Nasrin

  If you do indeed believe in terms like secularism, equality, honesty and courage, then it should not be difficult for you to accept me as a friend. Elections cannot be the last word to everything in the world, there are still things like humanity to consider, and ethics too. If we end up losing these, then what else is left to redeem? So many kings win, yet so many fall from grace, but do we judge a king’s character by how long he managed to hang on to his throne? Shouldn’t a king be judged solely by his actions?

  Yours sincerely,

  Taslima

  10 December

  ‘. . . Taslima has suffered too much and has gone through prolonged distress and agony. This must be brought to an end without delay. She should also, without much ado, be allowed to return to Kolkata, her preferred place for stay. Moreover, she should be granted Indian citizenship before her current visa expires so that her creative work does not suffer and she is never again rendered fugitive and stateless. The award of citizenship would also make it easier for her to protect her rights. In urging this, I am not alone; hundreds of millions of Indians desire likewise.’—Muchkund Dubey37

  It is International Human Rights Day today and I am in a deeply pensive mood as I reflect upon my life. I have been in exile for nearly two decades. I am yet to win back the freedom to go back to my native Bangladesh and settle there. The Government of Bangladesh, on its part, has never bothered to inform me why it has revoked my citizenship.

  It is International Human Rights Day today and I am languishing in a godforsaken place far away from my beloved Bengal. Both the eastern and western halves of Bengal have banished me, making any refuge anywhere in either state impossible. No one would know where I am; not that anyone is supposed to in the first place. No one is allowed to meet me and neither am I allowed to see anyone. My days and evenings and nights thus pass in solitude.

  It is International Human Rights Day today and I have spent the entire day thinking about a life that is devoid of all rights. An orphan, helpless and mute, denied the right to speak. Isn’t the freedom of speech and expression a fundamental right too? Sometimes, not having spoken or expressed an opinion in a while, I feel I might summarily forget how to speak, how to think. I might forget that just like my own, there are contrary views that I must be open to. I might forget the true definition of human rights. Today’s date will come and go but it will no longer make a difference to me.

  My captors came to visit me in the evening, usually a sign of new developments. What they told me boils down to this: Gunnar Svensson is coming from Sweden to meet me but I am not allowed to host a foreign national in my safe house, and neither am I allowed to go and meet him at his hotel. I have also been informed that if I wish to meet Mr Svensson, then I would have to ask for approval in writing. If the powers that be are fine with my request, then both of us will be separately taken to a neutral space for a couple of hours so that we can talk. I have been asked to not expect anything more. My captors are not gods. They are far more powerful.

  I have given countless lectures across the globe, on different platforms and in various universities, on personal freedom and the freedom of expression. So many people in so many countries have come to listen and be inspired. And here they are, having confined me to a room, dictating what I can and cannot do. The people who are so busy with the shackles on my feet and the blindfolds on my eyes, have they even heard about me? Have they ever been privy to my history?

  I was supposed to be in Kolkata now, and Svensson was supposed to visit me there! If I had been in Kolkata, he could have easily visited me in my home, and perhaps even stayed on as my guest. I know for a fact he has a Stockholm–Kolkata ticket, bought in advance a few months ago. His itinerary has been changed on hearing that I am presently in Delhi. I have told him over the phone that I am more or less under house arrest in Delhi, so I cannot say for certain how I will meet him. Svensson was obviously not happy hearing this. He tried explaining to me that I should not let them coerce me into everything, that I should fight against the arbitrary rules made especially for me—like how he would not be able to visit me or stay with me. Despite being aware that it is not possible for me to fight, Svensson has not cancelled his trip. Besides, there are no refunds on cancelling cheap tickets, so it makes sense he continue his trip!

  What manner of life am I supposed to live in this exile if I am not allowed to meet even a few chosen friends? I will eventually suffocate to death if things go on like this! At least when I had been under house arrest in Kolkata, friends had been allowed to visit. Now I have been cut off from the entire world. What my captors told me had a lot in common with what Prasun Mukherjee had said to me: ‘If it is so important to meet him, why don’t you go and do so in Sweden?’ So, is that what they want? That I leave this country?

  Indeed, it is International Human Rights Day today!

  11 December

  I would have surely perished if not for my computer and the Internet. I had initially thought to myself, why take the computer along for a two-day trip? It’s not as if I was going to work too much! Then I thought to myself, at least I might write a poem or two. So, I had set out with only my computer.

  Work has kept me alive. I remember helplessly crying at the sight of the small cell in Robben Island where Nelson Mandela had had to spend eighteen of his twenty-seven years of incarceration. I remember crying at the thought of what he used to do besides his work in the limestone quarry, only to realize that the tiny lock-up had books and some sparse stationery. Perhaps one can momentarily forget a lot of suffering if one is only allowed the freedom to read and write.

  I frequently get calls from Kolkata where people read out articles that have been published in solidarity with me in the Bengali newspapers. These days it is Enamul Kabir who has taken on this task. In the morning, he read out Suranjan Dasgupta’s editorial from Aajkaal where he has cited numerous instances since 1947 where political asylum has been granted to various people, never with any preconditions or prior promise of obedience. Dasgupta has unequivocally declared that it will surely be a condemnable incident if the same is not made available to me in this secular democratic country. I have never met Mr Dasgupta. Yet, so many people like him, people I do not know, have stood by me through this ordeal and have taken a stand against a grievous injustice.

  I received a text message from Arundhati Roy: ‘Am in Kolkata. Everybody I meet wants you back here. I am sure it will happen. Stay strong. Am in a crowd. Will call when I can. Lots of love.’ So few words and yet they have brought me so much joy. I had spoken to her on the very first day in this ‘safe house’, all thanks to Karan Thapar. I had told her everything—Hyderabad, my return to Kolkata, the ensuing house arrest, the commissioner’s visit to my house, 21 November, and my forced farewell the very next day. Karan later interviewed Arundhati on his show, The Devil’s Advocate. Arundhati had been fantastic! She confessed that if all the things that had been done to me had happened to her, she would have given up writing to do something else. She also admitted to being suspicious that the entire controversy was a carefully manufactured diversion meant to deflect public attention from the uproar surrounding Nandigram and Singur. The protest rally at Park Circus had been nothing but a rehearsed performance to provide the perfect excuse for driving me out of the state. Already the news of the death of another Muslim youth, coupled with the embers from the Rizwanur murder scandal, had been threatening to upset the Muslim vote bank that had always staunchly supported the Left in Bengal. Afraid of losing their fiefdom, the drowning Left Front government had grasped at the nearest straw they could find—me. They had known it would be easy to tag me as anti-Islamic and drive me out forcefully, just so the Taslima-hating Muslims keep voting for the incumbent government.

  Ever since our last conversation on the night of 23 November, I have not spoken to Mr B, even though he had assured me I could call him whenever required. But he is such an important man, I don’t wish to bother him. I called him today at long last because of Svensson’s v
isit; I wish he stays nearby during his visit here. Mr B told me to write a letter. He also informed me that the fundamentalists had not simply targeted me; they had also caused him trouble, though he was a little fuzzy about the exact nature of that ordeal. I would assume the Muslims have abused him because he has taken me on as a responsibility and has been feeding and keeping me alive instead of driving me out of the country entirely. I asked Mr B when I would be able to return to Kolkata, the same old uncomfortable question. He could not say for sure, only that the entire thing was at the mercy of an impulse. What had happened had been impulsive, and as soon as there was another distraction, the people would shift their attention from me and things would automatically calm down. Till then, however, I would have to stay away from West Bengal.

  I am an unwanted creature. The Government of West Bengal does not wish me to be back, and it seems, neither do the people. Some do perhaps, but not strongly enough for anything to change. Never in my life did I imagine that something like this would happen.

  12 December

  The days pass, though I am not entirely sure how. They have bought me a black sweater; my skin is dry and peeling in the cold. The dermatologist Mr Malakar has advised me to use a cream called Venusia for my skin. They have bought me that too, besides getting me two new pairs of socks. It’s the same type of food for breakfast, lunch and dinner. It works, in a way. I am called and I go and eat. Not that I feel too hungry, so I am not exactly certain why I eat. The senses are gradually withering, as if death has taken root somewhere in my body. A few days ago I had sat and howled, prayed to my overlords to fetch me some poison. They have surely taken that request quite literally and dispatched it to the department concerned.

  A slew of stony faces surround me day and night, my protectors and captors, I am no longer sure which is which. I keep oscillating between being under house arrest and being under surveillance. The stones have become impatient, half expecting me to burst out one day with a sudden ‘That’s it! I’ve had it. I’m leaving!’ If something can reanimate these stones, this surely will. They will promptly ask, ‘Which country, ma’am? Do you want a business class ticket, or would economy do?’

  I cannot breathe and no one seems to be noticing. No one seems to be sensing any unease, my gasping sounds are inaudible too. Wrapped as they usually are in silence, such sounds are mostly faint and are rarely ever heard.

  I cannot comprehend our times any more. I also do not know if I will ever be able to go back home. West Bengal might forever remain a distant dream or even a nightmare.

  Joy Goswami has written a wonderful article about me. I spoke to him over the phone and he told me they were proud of me back home. Aparna Sen38 called in the afternoon to express regret that the true miscreants had been spared while an innocent person had been punished. Yes, that is what had happened. So, what were they going to do about it? She assured me she was trying her best to come up with something. Jayashri Dasgupta called to express her grief. However, throughout the conversation it was obvious that she had assumed I would be staying away from Kolkata. Jayashridi, I want to go back home! Dolly and Saugata Roy called later in the night. Saugata told me, ‘The CPM doesn’t want you back. And we don’t have the power to bring you back.’

  ‘Then? Will I never be able to return to Kolkata? I have to go back!’ ‘Let me see what I can do. I will try and have a word with Priyada and Pranabda.’

  ‘You haven’t tried calling them yet?’ I asked, trying to hold back tears. I could understand he was a little mortified. Clearly, back in Kolkata, everyone has gotten used to the certainty and finality of my farewell. They will express appropriate sorrow when the topic arises, some will confess to missing me, others will show pity. The rest will simply blame the entire episode on my bad lot.

  Of course, those who do not know me, who do not read my work, who do not understand me, they will allege that I had set the entire thing up to garner fame, boost sales, and manufacture publicity. But they will not be able to list out the crimes I have supposedly committed. Some will find peace in denouncing the literary merit of my writings, since that can clearly be reason enough for the state to banish a writer with complete impunity. Anxieties concerning communal unrest and violence can also serve as equally effective pretexts. Either way, the outcome remains the same.

  13 December

  If you are alone, then that is all that you are. All you have then is solitary confinement and a room full of misery. When you are alone, you are completely alone. And you have no one else in the entire universe.

  14 December

  Eminent historian Tapan Raychaudhuri has been calling quite frequently from Kolkata. He is a revered man, an established writer and a Padma Bhushan awardee. During one such conversation he confessed, after reminding me that I was not supposed to ask for names, to have spoken to a high-ranking official from Bengal.

  TR: Things are quite grim!

  TN: Grim? Where?

  TR: Back here.

  TN: But why are things grim? I don’t see anything that’s wrong!

  TR: You have no idea. The Lashkar-e-Taiba is bent on killing you. They are looking all over for you!

  TN: I haven’t heard anything like that!

  TR: It’s come out in the Telegraph.

  TN: I don’t think the Telegraph has written something like this. Have you heard of the HuJi in Bangladesh? A few years back, they had made elaborate plans to kill me. Now no one has any such plans. The antisocial ruffians who violated the streets of Kolkata on the 21st have not read my books, of that I am sure. So, there was clearly a scheme behind their involvement.

  TR: Let us negotiate for now. We are trying to find out what the fundamentalists want, whether you have to tender a written apology or something like that. Whatever their demands are, it will be best if we can come to an understanding accordingly.

  TN: I have already excised certain sections from the book. Their top-rung leaders had declared the matter closed. So, what is this now? Why should I have to pander to any random demand anyone might make?

  TR: A written apology might go a long way.

  TN: What do you mean by a written apology?

  TR: One stating to the public that you have removed certain offensive sections from your book.

  TN: But all that is done! It was shown on TV for the entire day. In fact, a new edition has already been printed without those deleted sections.

  TR: They are not willing to understand.

  TN: Who has told you that? They are perfectly willing to understand. It is Mr Biman Basu who isn’t. He has said I have written more. What he means by that is more of my work should be erased. Ultimately, if they do not wish to understand, then nothing will convince them otherwise, not even a written apology. If someone deliberately wants to be spiteful, there is very little that can be done to stop them.

  TR: Things are uneasy though.

  TN: Things are uneasy if you want them to be uneasy. Or else, they are perfectly peaceful. Who has told you about this trouble?

  TR: They told me! They told me that the fundamentalists are creating a racket.

  TN: They are creating a racket because they are being encouraged to do so. If the media keeps giving them free publicity and the politicians keep bowing to each of their dictums, this is what they will keep doing. They are not doing anything right now, you would have noticed if they were. Have there been any protest marches lately? The imam of the Tipu Sultan Mosque has mentioned not liking something a few times. If he had been reprimanded, he would have stopped. The last time he had issued a fatwa against me, Prasun Mukherjee had called him over and reprimanded him, or bribed him perhaps, and the imam had emerged from the meeting having completely reversed his stance. In fact, he had denied having issued a fatwa in the first place! You see, the problem is with intentions. Right now, no one wants to stop the imam. The people who could have easily handled the situation just don’t want to do it.

  TR: I understand that. But these people are playing political games. How ca
n we call ourselves civilized! They’re all scoundrels.

  He informed me that he would be meeting someone very important very soon, to talk about me. I asked who it was, but he did not want to say. ‘I won’t take names, but I know he is the only person who can help you. In fact, he can save you from this dangerous predicament.’

  The assurance gave me hope. I knew Tapan Raychaudhuri has always been fond of me. However, the news I received, of the meeting with the ‘very important’ man, left me flabbergasted.

  TR: So, I spoke to him. He told me it would be best if you leave the country for a while. You won’t have to spend any money. The Government of India will sponsor your travel and stay abroad.

  TN: What? Who has told you this?

  TR: I can’t say who it is. Don’t ask me his name. But he is someone very important.

  TN: So they truly want to drive me out of the country?

  TR: Absolutely not! You will leave only after your visa has been extended. So, you don’t have to worry about that. If you have a visa, you can always return.

  TN: They can stop me in the immigration even if I have a visa.

  TR: No, that’s not possible.

  TN: Yes, they can. They absolutely can. They can if they have orders to do so.