Bijoy, and the diasporic identity
It takes an aggregate of some 27 million months to make three million lives. It took just nine months, the duration of the 1971 Bangladesh Liberation War, to take those lives away.
Lt. General Aurora, the General Officer Commanding-in-Chief of the combined Indian-Bangladeshi forces, sits solemnly. Aurora watches Lt. General A A K Niazi, commander of Pakistan’s military during the war, sign the Instrument of Surrender, signs the document himself, and promptly exits the room — all without saying a word. The crowd watching the exchange, using the silence to etch this moment into the annals of history, erupt into momentous uproar. Liberation — with all the chaos preceding it, was inaugurated in silence; it was actualized in celebration. Bijoy — victory, had arrived.
[The excerpt above was pieced together with accounts from Kuldip Nayar’s article “Of Betrayal and Bungling,” published in Indian Express in February 1998, and an article from Dawn.com, published in May 2012]
Bijoy was a moment of exhalation for Bangladeshis, an evanescent reprieve from calamity. It sat still in 1971, quietly, in the crevice of a world in motion — a broken heart relearning to love, a small plant in arid soil, a survivor in a world of martyrs. It was a moment of silence after the chaos — like the few minutes of stillness before birds inaugurate the sun into a new day. Bijoy was pregnant with the possibility of permanence, but was yet, a fleeting relief — it was made miniscule by the backdrop of loss of life, by rivers running red, swiftly turning brown. The oxidation of blood, like the momentous uproar of celebration after Lt. Gen. Aurora’s silence were reminders that the world did not sit still — that victory, though a representation of inexplicable strength, was yet, still just a moment, an acknowledgement that there was work to be done.
The people who carried on the work were no strangers to rebuilding. They were merchants, mukti juddha — freedom fighters, birangona — war heroines, students, professors, doctors, village folk. Rebuilding began in the immediate aftermath of Bijoy, in the context of immense loss of life and structure. For a country in its first days of life, rebuilding had to happen nonetheless — with universities opening for classes, businesses and storefronts coming back to life, and the publication of media and culture. Rebuilding reached beyond geographical boundaries too, as it resonated in the hearts of Bangladeshis abroad. Today, Maria Islam in Dallas, TX, remembers her grandfather’s urgency to return to Bangladesh from the United States in the aftermath. She speaks about his desire to use his Western education in his homeland, 12,000 miles away. He “believed that his education and endeavors should come to the service of his country and that he wanted to use his privilege to work back in his motherland.”
In places such as the United States, places that lack tangible, overt reminders of victory — memorials, monuments, government holidays — it seems easy for Bijoy to become a white noise in the background of our existence — an accepted, but little acknowledged facet of our lives. But it is through the task of self-actualization that we, the children of the diaspora, come to face the histories of who we are and of the events that contribute to our identity. Today, Bijoy resonates still, in generations beyond its arrival — within children, grandchildren, great-grandchildren of freedom fighters and survivors of the war. It planted itself in the hearts of those who witnessed it — our parents, grandparents, great-grandparents — and they transplanted it into ours. For children of the diaspora, Bijoy lives on in stories and Shankskritik onushthans (cultural celebrations).
Brishty Khan, also of Dallas, TX, recounts the strength of these stories and celebrations. As the rigid routines and obligations of adulthood often take priority nowadays, she reminisces about the festivals and celebrations she attended growing up saying she was “lucky enough to be raised in a big Bangladeshi expat community in Dallas.” Back then, she joined her community to celebrate Bijoy Dibosh — Victory Day “through the arts, natoks (films/plays), and melas (carnivals).”
After Bijoy, Bangladesh adopted a flag — a green rectangle with a red circle in the middle. The disc of red is all at once the sun rising over our new Bengal and the pools of blood at the feet of the mukti juddha. It is the unmarked grave of the men and women we buried, of the 27 million months we sacrificed for nine months — of the three million lives we gave to birth a new one — of the immense sacrifice made for our Bangladesh. Our histories are our lineages; our roots travel back as far as one can trace, and these roots all collide in 1971. Everyone has a story, everyone lost a loved one , or everyone knows someone who lost a loved one. In the journey of self-actualization and formulating our own identities, how can we forego acknowledging such loss?
Especially as children of the diaspora, we do not abandon Bijoy. It is ingrained in the way our tongues shape sounds, the love we express to those who gave life to us, in our skin color, and almost, it seems, in the coils of our DNA. Adulthood was not an escape from culture for us, it was how we came to know the sacrifice of our ancestors. We know that Bijoy was not our esteemed house guest — it did not walk quietly to our door and knock. Our people gave lives, their dignities, their bodies, and survived still. Bijoy let our ancestors rest, if even for a brief moment. They went to sleep, knowing they wouldn’t have to wake up to war, and when they awoke to a new Bangla, victory and independence meant they had to start rebuilding. So, they did. And we honor that.
GLOSSARY:
Bijoy — victory
Bijoy Dibosh — victory day of Bangladesh
Shankskritik onushthan — cultural celebration
Mukti juddha — freedom fighter
Birangona — brave or courageous woman, or a ‘war heroine’: a title given to Bangladeshi women who were victims of rape as a war tool in 1971
Natok — play/film
Mela — carnival/fair
