I was Teenager in 1971 war in Bangladesh

                In a fine morning of 1971 I was getting ready to go to my school when my mother came and told me that the Pakistan Army has finally set foot in our village late last night and they have occupied our school as their camp. A feeling of curiosity, fear grasped me. Curiosity because I have long wanted to see the face of these people whose cruel and savage activity has torn apart our country and its people; fear because now that they are here they’ll soon begin their cruelty in here, 

          

          Within a day or two I realized there was no place for such childish feelings; war was a serious matter. When one sees his cancer stricken father being shot in front of his eyes and as his mother jumps over her dead husband wailing and get a bullet from the dangerously savage Pakistanis on her back and the son looks on helplessly, mutely from his hiding place the feelings ought to change. In my case it was replaced by inexplicable hatred, urgency and determination to eliminate the Pakistani troops and myself. I just couldn’t forgive myself for my cowardness. Within the ten minutes of the incident I felt I have grown from 15 years to atleast a 30 year old man.

              When fighting in the front I realized the literal meaning of the hell breaking loose.  I felt the warm sticky feelings of blood which spurted out why I cut the throat of a Pakistani army – that was my first experience in man slaughtering. I had to use my every bit of will power not to faint but I couldn’t suppress the shrill cry of  ‘ Mother , where are you ?’ as I struggled in agony . I often wondered how I carried one injured co-fighter on my back to our camps.  I consoled him the whole way the he’ll be fine. But when we reached the camp my leader told me that I needn’t take the trouble of carrying him as he was dead. I couldn’t believe my ears but my eyes saw clearly that he was dead as wood and one of his eyes were staring at me while the other was just a black hole because the bullet went through it. I couldn’t stop feeling the cold shiver that ran down my spine thinking that I carried a dead body on my back – may be the teenager in me was still there.

            Sometimes we used to discuss what we’ll do after the war was over.  Many of us didn’t have an answer. Matured minds are stuck in the body of 15 years old… 

          On the 16th December when I first saw the Green-Red flag of our hard earned country I felt so very different and a pang to help recover and rebuild our very own country ‘Bangladesh’.  The depressions that surrounded me very often vanished totally.  As I joined the ‘Bijoy Michil’  I took a silent oath that I’ll  heal this country from its tears and worn outs along with the others and I realized with a deep relief that I was no longer aimless , no longer a teenager during the war but an enriched person like many other freedom fighters and that we have a mission to be fulfilled .