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Abba,
The life you wove, a tapestry of integrity and quiet strength, has bequeathed to your children an immeasurable legacy of pride, a profound contentment that echoes within the deepest chambers of my heart.
Throughout your days, I witnessed a soul untouched by the fleeting allure of wealth, land, or material possessions. Even as the years spun their relentless course, and you commanded a respectable monthly income of one hundred fifty thousand takas as a panel lawyer for seven or eight banks, your wallet would often be found wanting by the morning's first light. Despite shouldering an overwhelming caseload of hundreds of bank matters, you rarely lingered in the courtrooms after the gentle call of the afternoon prayers. Instead, you sought solace in the quiet embrace of home, surrendering to the tranquil respite of an afternoon nap. Though you bore the lifelong companion of cigarettes, no soul ever witnessed you indulging in this habit amidst the public eye. Beyond the confines of your designated seat within the lawyer's association, you were never seen idly engaging in frivolous conversation. Before the cruel hand of cancer claimed my eldest uncle, he entrusted you—a lawyer of unwavering repute—with all the cherished documents of their ancestral abode. Yet, demonstrating a profound indifference to the enticements of worldly possessions, you promptly relinquished these papers into the safekeeping of your elder brother. You'd declare, with a quiet conviction, "These are the treasures of our forefathers, not the fruits of my own labor."
The house you meticulously crafted in 1990 was eventually sold, and for the past twenty-three years, Mom has remained a tenant in your rented dwelling. Following the donation of your cherished law books, a modest collection of well-used furniture, and the flourishing plants that once graced your balcony, many voices urged the construction of a new home within the city's embrace, to serve as a living memorial. Yet, even after fourteen years spent residing in London, the financial means to purchase land and erect a house to my liking eluded me.
Neither then nor now has the specter of greed or the lure of wealth ever held sway over my soul. Twenty years ago, whilst still within the country's borders, I favored the sleek lines of a jeep and the allure of a stylish motorcycle. The inability to accumulate wealth over the span of a decade, though admittedly a personal failing, stands as a testament to certain aspects of my pride.
Yet, as your offspring, I find myself compelled to question how many, within my lifetime, both within our homeland and beyond its shores, have dared to echo your unwavering stance against injustice, discrimination, and the scourge of terror with the same fearless abandon. That verdict rests in the hands of the Almighty. All my endeavors have been undertaken in pursuit of divine contentment and the soul’s deep satisfaction.
In Moulvibazar, my birthplace and the cradle of my upbringing, I have remained a steadfast voice against every transgression—the brutal assaults against legal professionals like Victor Prentice, the blatant manipulation of electoral processes, and the insidious reign of terror. Fueled by the unyielding convictions of my faith and conscience, I vow to maintain this resistance until my final breath. I've sought to discharge my debt to this soil through the unyielding condemnation of vote rigging in municipal and parliamentary elections, the heartless murder of Shabab-Mahi, and the attempted assassination of Swagata Kishore Dash within the sanctity of his own home—all done in the face of absolute power’s intimidating gaze. Never, in the past twenty-three years, have I allowed the sacred instruments of my journalistic calling to be tarnished by the allure of financial gain or the pursuit of self-interest.
Two
You toiled tirelessly to provide your children with the keys to an education abroad, the means to unlock the doors of higher learning. I, too, after a significant hiatus from formal education, set my sights upon a master’s degree from the esteemed halls of Buckingham University in Britain. The culmination of this academic endeavor is scheduled for December.
As the years accumulate, I find myself disinclined to share the intimate details of my life upon the digital stage of platforms such as Facebook. Within these strange times, even the simple acts of prayer for departed parents, the tender respect for their sacred memories, and the humble gestures of hospitality towards others are met with criticism.
Abba,
You are not confined to a single day of remembrance. Every moment of my existence is punctuated by your presence. Every conversation with Mom or my childhood comrades brings forth your familiar shadow. Each year, despite the pressures of journalistic endeavors abroad and the constraints of financial hardship, I endeavor to return to our homeland to commemorate your passing. This time, however, my personal limitations have intervened.
Dad, my love for you knows no bounds. You, with all your nuances—your reasonable anger, your moments of frustration, your unwavering love—you are my father. And it is this very essence of you that I hold dear.
I can swear by Allah that I have never heard any human speak any unkind word about you.
The honest, forthright, and, admittedly, somewhat quick-tempered man that your colleagues still recall with a fond fondness—for him, my heart bleeds still. When your favorite dishes grace my table, when I catch glimpses of your likeness in men your age, when I find myself embraced in fatherly affection—my tears flow freely, Dad.
You reside eternally within the core of my being—within the sanctuary of my unwavering faith, within the script of my enduring affection, within the deepest chambers of my heart.
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Munzer Ahmed Chowdhury
