Exile

by Taslima Nasrin

  C: What did you talk about?

  TN: He asked me how I was. And how things were.

  C: What did you say?

  TN: Exactly how I have been and how things have been.

  C: Everything?

  TN: Yes, I don’t hide things.

  C: You told him you aren’t well?

  TN: I told him I had everything except my freedom.

  C: What did he say?

  TN: He listened. He did not say anything.

  C: He seemed like an excellent man.

  TN: Yes, a completely modern man. Have you had lunch?

  C: Yes. What else did he say?

  TN: About what?

  C: About you?

  TN: He seemed to know well about me. He seemed to be quite aware—about what happened in Kolkata and why, about what happened in Bangladesh and why.

  C: And about what is happening in Delhi?

  TN: We spoke about it. What can he say? He is not a citizen of this country.

  C: Obviously. But you are a citizen of his.

  TN: On paper. Tell me, do I look Swedish to you, or do I look Indian?

  C: You are trapped here in this safe house without any independence to speak of. You cannot go back to Kolkata. You have been a victim of political hypocrisy in India. Didn’t you talk about all that?

  TN: He knows everything.

  C: Didn’t he give you any advice?

  TN: Why should he? Am I a child? I know what I have to do.

  C: Of course, but an expert’s advice is always helpful.

  TN: He didn’t feel I needed advice.

  My captors were quiet for a long while. As we were approaching the safe house, the silence broke again.

  C: The ambassador did not say anything about going back to Sweden?

  TN: Where?

  C: Sweden.

  TN: No, he did not.

  C: He didn’t say anything? He didn’t ask you anything about your lack of freedom? You have not been able to work due to increasing stress, and it’s also causing immense strain on your physical and mental health. Didn’t he say anything about that either? He didn’t ask you to go back to Sweden?

  TN: No, he didn’t say anything like that at all.

  C: Nothing?

  TN: No.

  C: Why didn’t he?

  TN: He didn’t because he knows very well that I can go back to Sweden whenever I want. But I don’t want to. I want to live in India.

  23 February

  My captors have told me that I am allowed to go about as I wish, wherever I wish. They have added a clausula salvatoria though: I would have to make arrangements for my own security. My blood pressure has risen and I don’t feel too well. I can feel that I am slowly and inexorably walking towards death. Should I try to save myself? Or should I just give in?

  24 February

  I don’t think I will be able to live in this country any more.

  26 February

  I received news in the morning of Shibnarayan Ray’s passing. He had wished to write about my book Narir Kono Desh Nei (A Woman Has No Nation) but Anandabazar had shown no interest. Did he manage to finish the article or did he leave it half-written?

  Annada Shankar Roy is no more. Neither is Nikhil Sarkar. Now Shibnarayan Ray too has passed away. All my friends are gone. There is almost no one left for me in Kolkata Apart from Anil Dutta, I would not have any other true friend in Bengal. I would be completely alone.

  Shibnarayan Ray was an extraordinary man. He was always by my side, especially through some of my most difficult times, no matter which part of the world I was in. A fearless fighter, he cared very little that I did not have the support of the administration. Such was his stature that he could stand by his convictions and no one dared say anything to the contrary. Just a few days ago, unfazed by my obvious despair at my slowly crumbling dreams, he had told me: ‘Keep writing. No matter how you are, where you are, never stop writing. Remember, your pen is your life.’ His fiery presence had helped me grip my pen tighter; it had helped me keep fighting. When the entire world had abandoned me to fate, he had been steadfast in his support, alone like me. Great men like him are slowly disappearing; the world’s store of the brave and the selfless is gradually depleting, with the weak and the selfish taking their place. Their loud boasts and ugly threats have become the norm of the day. A bitterly icy darkness has begun to consume my world.

  28 February

  My poems are being published in Dainik Statesman every day. Every day I am getting excited congratulatory calls, with people telling me how they wait for my poems. Renowned literary scholar Samik Bandyopadhyay has already translated a poem, and he has even told me of his wish to bring out an entire collection of my poems in English. I have been writing about my life in the ‘safe house’ in my poems, a life where I do not know if I am a captive or not.

  They will say I have a better life than I would in jail. Or that there are people with worse misfortunes! Does that mean that the injustices I have been subjected to are acceptable? Does that mean I have to silently bear it all? No, I will fight for every last right. I will not rest thinking I have been given more freedom than the next person, and so I should be grateful. I will not allow anyone to take away any of my rights. My independence has come under fire because someone else has a problem with something I have said or written. Do they not know what freedom means, these men who want my head? If someone does not understand what freedom means, or if they do not wish to understand, why must I change my ways for them? Let the government or the education system or the media teach them the definition of freedom. Let them also teach the people about democracy, about the meaning of rights and about the right to free speech.

  2 March

  It still amazes me how much people believe in religion. My captors don’t touch non-vegetarian food on Tuesdays because it’s the day they worship Hanuman, the Monkey God. Each and every one of them is unwaveringly devout. They regularly perform the puja rituals, and sport a sacred red string around their wrists as proof. Not simply religion, their faith is resolute vis-à-vis all forms of superstitions. In fact, till date I have not found a doctor who has not spoken to me about God. How God has made my body, how He is the one who has given me illness and how He will also provide the cure—these days all I can do is sit and listen to this drivel in stunned silence. Almost every person in this country, irrespective of gender, wealth or educational background, is religious.

  Such a profusion of beliefs, rituals, fasts and various other customs and benedictions is something that is truly unique to India. Even in Bangladesh I have not witnessed something of this nature. Earlier, whenever in a debate a western scholar would call India a country of religions, I used to take great umbrage. I used to immediately launch into a litany of India’s glorious ancient tradition of atheists and lokayat philosophers. There is no sign of all that any longer though and atheists are a rarity now. Instead, it’s a nation of narrow-minded, superstitious fanatics and astrologers. The cantonment has a temple within its premises where recorded hymns are played throughout the day. Every single soul in the cantonment, civilian or military, except me, is devoutly religious. Now isn’t that a scary thought!

  There is a small hut, more like a single room, near the main entrance of the cantonment. Outside, there is a board which reads: ‘If you have it once you’re a wise man, twice a glutton, thrice greedy, and then you are dead!’ What sort of nonsense is this that passes off as truisms? Is there no way left to reform this faith-obsessed nation?

  Every day I am forced to interact with people who wear their patriarchy, their religion and their superstitions with pride. I have to speak to such people every day. They are my sole companions since I don’t have the liberty to choose my own.

  3 March

  I have lost a lot of friends along the way. Some have chosen to cut ties because a friendship with me would undoubtedly be politically risky. I have gained a few friends along the way too, but in the sort of life that I am allowed, one can never be
sure how long such fragile friendships last. A girl from Patna, Keya, calls every night and we chat for a long time. She is a voracious reader and an ardent admirer. Sumit Chakraborty calls regularly to ask after me. Many others, some of the names a little fuzzy, keep in touch. Yet another such person is Diptesh, a journalist. In fact, I had asked him to put me in touch with a Bengali cardiologist and he did. I spoke to Dr Tarun Bagchi on quite a few occasions until he abruptly stopped taking my calls. I told my captors that I wanted to meet Dr Bagchi but they sternly rejected it saying I would have to keep seeing the doctor who had been chosen for me. Suddenly, Diptesh too stopped taking my calls. One day, after managing to get through to him, I asked him directly if he was trying to avoid me. He stayed silent for a moment and then exclaimed, ‘It has been terrible. The police came to my office asking for me, trying to gather information on me.’

  TN: Why?

  Diptesh (D): Because I gave you that doctor’s reference.

  TN: Dr Bagchi?

  D: Yes.

  TN: But he is not taking my calls. I have been trying for quite some time.

  D: He won’t either. He is very scared. The police went to his chamber and threatened him too.

  TN: He won’t speak to me any more? How strange! You are not making this up, are you? I can’t believe the police will go and threaten an innocent doctor because he has spoken to me over the phone!

  D: I have had to change all my bank accounts.

  TN: Why?

  D: I am being constantly watched. It’s been terrible.

  TN: Don’t be so scared, Diptesh.

  Quite by chance, I found out that the doctor from AIIMS who has been treating me, Dr Bahl, is Diptesh’s doctor too. I asked Diptesh for Dr Bahl’s phone number so that I could speak to him directly regarding my fluctuating blood pressure. Since he had not gotten me admitted to a hospital to take care of the problem, it was imperative I have his number for emergency purposes. I had never managed to acquire the phone number from my captors who used to maintain a strict chain of command. Whatever health issues I had, I had to tell them, for it to be passed on to the doctor. The good doctor’s diagnosis and prescription used to similarly trickle back down to me. My captors never let me speak to even the junior doctors of Dr Bahl’s department, following the same chain of command in such cases too. If I had not been a doctor myself, this perhaps would not have bothered me so much. But this transaction of medical information via multiple channels was especially tiresome and annoying, given that all I wanted to do was to talk to another doctor in medical terms. Diptesh was unable to give me the doctor’s phone number because the latter had asked him not to. Apparently, Dr Bahl did not want to lose his job. It was strange that he was willing to forgo his responsibilities towards his patient to that end.

  Diptesh’s account seems too implausible. The police visit to his office, their questions, is he making all this up? But to what end? Does he not wish to keep in touch with me any longer? Why would a journalist who loves my writing not want to stay in touch? So, has someone else instructed him to sever all communication with me? Is it the government? But what would they gain? Sometimes, these things don’t make any sense to me at all.

  10 March

  Tapan Raychaudhuri had come down from Kolkata for the second time in these months, ostensibly to meet me. The first time he had not said too many things in support of Mr B. This time, however, he had come for all intents and purposes to convince me to leave. The conversation started off with praise dedicated to Mr B and what a great man he was, and how he deserves much bigger accolades like the Bharat Ratna rather than the small recognitions he has gotten thus far. Eventually, the mood shifted and when it came to me, Raychaudhuri’s ire was evident.

  TR: You should leave. Why are you still in this country? At least in Europe and America, you would be able to sit and write in peace. Besides—

  TN: Besides what?

  TR: There are threats here.

  TN: What threats?

  TR: The Governor has said there are threats.

  TN: Of course, there are threats. I have lived with threats for the past two decades or so. And which place is safe? Where in the world will you not find Muslim fundamentalists? Won’t they simply follow me everywhere if I’m on their radar?

  It did not matter where I went as long as I consented to leaving India—that was the gist of this entire charade. My fate, whether I lived or died, meant very little to these people. Raychaudhuri continued, ‘CPI(M) will simply make sure you vanish if they have a problem with you.’ When I asked what that meant, he informed me that they would murder me. The implications were clear—not just the zealots, but the political cadres too I had to be wary of.

  After our conversation had gone on for a few hours, and on realizing he would not be able to change my mind about leaving India, he became quite angry and unrecognizable. Gone was the person I had known for years, and who had admittedly always been quite fond of me. These days whenever I meet someone I keep wondering where the face ends and the mask begins.

  There was a car waiting to take him to the airport in the afternoon. However, he lied to me saying he would meet Mr B on his way when I knew he had no such plans. Besides, he had already lied to me about having reached Delhi two days before. He had no luggage with him, and he had also admitted by mistake to having read a magazine from Kolkata on the flight that morning. It clearly meant he had flown down to Delhi that very morning after having received urgent missives from Mr B for help in convincing a stubborn woman to follow the orders given to her.

  The people around me are progressively becoming unrecognizable.

  11 March

  The senior bureaucrat Sanatan Sengupta had once behaved horribly with me regarding a letter I had written to Madanjeet Singh. Trembling with righteous fury about the alleged rumours I had been spreading around the globe, and about the fact that I had dared to speak out against the government that was keeping me safe, he had warned me of dire consequences. Chastising me about my heinous crimes, he had asked me to desist, despite my earnest attempts to explain to him that I had written nothing against the government. I had simply written about my dire conditions. Sengupta had refused to listen though, and had kept on screaming the same things over and over again, so much so that I had thought at one point that he must be a machine with a switch behind his head that someone had accidentally left on.

  After the renewal of my residence permit in February, I had written to the ministry requesting them to give me some degree of independence to live and move around in Delhi on my own. There could be guards like in Kolkata, but all decisions regarding my life would be my own. In response, Sengupta had refused my request gravely citing the status quo.

  TN: What do you mean?

  Sanatan Sengupta (SS): I mean things must go on as they are.

  TN: No change?

  SS: No, none.

  TN: For how long?

  SS: Indefinitely.

  I have always felt that bureaucrats don’t always approve of a minister’s actions or decisions even if they have to follow their orders. If that had not been true, Sanatan Sengupta would not have admitted to me that despite all that he had said and all that had come to pass, as a human being he was proud of me and respected me deeply. Neither would he have confessed that I was a remarkable individual and that he would like to salute me for my honesty and determination.

  12 March

  They have tried all available means to make me understand that the only life I can hope for in India is that of a captive. This is how I would have to survive, I would not be allowed to go out, nor would anyone be allowed to meet me. I would not have a social life. Instead, I would have to stay within the house, only getting some reprieve if I am unwell and need to visit the doctor. If I do not approve of the arrangements, they have told me to make my own.

  I have been told that I am going to be moved from this safe house. Where would I be taken? To a cave or to some distant mountains? Would all sources of communication with
the outside world be cut off? The telephone, the Internet, everything? I am under the government’s protection, rather I am in their custody, and they can do whatever they wish with me. But how long can I endure this? How long can anyone endure this? Perhaps politicians can, but I am not a politician; I have no stake in their struggle for power. I have fought for freedom all my life, but today I have no freedom to make my own decisions. For the past seven months, the government has been taking all the decisions. I am beginning to comprehend that it will progressively get more difficult for me to live here. Why am I waiting for the powerful to have a change of heart? There is no sign of something like that ever happening. In fact, most of them are quite happy with my condition, while I am bearing the brunt of their insensitivity. People will believe whatever they see. Perhaps they have been made to believe that whatever has been done to me has been for my security. Not many will pause to consider, let alone ask questions! Those who wish to will refrain from doing so out of fear.