Thirsting for my motherland's love
In the winter of 1994, shortly after Lajja was released, I remember participating in a Quiz contest and being asked to name the author of Lajja. I had answered correctly: Taslima Nasreen. It was two years then since the Babri Masjid had been demolished, but I hadn't known of any connection between the demolition and the book. In fact, it is only now on reading Lajja, a good twenty years since the book was launched, that I found out how the demolition of Babri Masjid had wrecked the lives of thousands of residents of Bangladesh.
Lajja (meaning 'shame') is a novel set in Bangladesh and revolves around the life of a Hindu family, the Duttas. Sudhamoy and his wife, Kiranmoyee, have raised their children, Suranjan and Maya, to think of all religions as equal. But it's an unequal country. Once firmly swearing to the tenets of secularism, policy makers in Bangladesh have over the course of years become increasingly supportive of Muslim fundamentalists. State money has been channeled to build mosques and madrasas preaching Islam have mushroomed.
At every bend, Sudhamoy and his family suffer humiliation as a result of anti-minority policies crafted by the lawmakers, but Sudhamoy never once thinks about leaving his land. He loves his country and his countrymen too much for that. Droves of Sudhamoy's relatives leave for India for good to escape persecution by Muslim thugs, but Sudhamoy, who is trained in medicine, is content to earn a modest sum working as a doctor in his own country. Indeed, the wellspring of love for one's motherland is deep and unremitting.
When the story starts, it is the winter of 1992 and the Babri Masjid at Ayodhya, a place in Northern India, has been demolished in India by fanatic Hindus, with no connection to the Hindus of Bangladesh. Yet, the fact that Hindus destroyed the Masjid is reason enough for Muslim fundamentalists in Bangaldesh to inflict a spate of atrocities against the minority Hindu population. Even as homes of Hindu families go up in flames, temples are demolished and hundreds of Hindus are murdered, Sudhamoy holds steadfast to the hope that normalcy will return and sense will prevail.
The story is told as events unfold the way they are seen through the eyes of Suranjan, Sudhamoy's son. Father and son share the same nationalistic spirit, but Suranjan, who lacks discipline and focus, has turned into a loafer. When news of the atrocities committed on Hindus flood in and Suranjan has a first-hand experience of how Hindus are regarded as second-class citizens, his faith in his fellow men is swept away.
But Suranjan doesn't have our sympathies yet. When his father suffers a serious stroke, he does little to provide relief by way of words or constructive action. On the contrary, his sister Maya is engrossed in nursing their father back to health. As a reader you resign yourself to the thought that Suranjan is cut out to be a lame actor on this stage while Sudhamoy and his wife play their part of caring parents accepting their son's shortcomings.
And then the real trouble comes home, thrash everything around with brute force. Dutta's daughter, Maya, is abducted by rioters when they barge in to demolish their house. It is heart-breaking.
All through the first part of the story, you have seen Suranjan visiting friends, squandering his time. It's only now that you see him rise up to the occasion, and do what his role in the family demands. Hysteric, he spends days and nights combing through the town hoping to find his sister. Your heart goes out to him. Suranjan can no longer look at any Muslim without suspicion. The violence around continues unabated... but you just want Maya to come home. You want to cling to that hope that, no matter what the family has gone through, Maya will return and "everything will be all right."
The cover of the book has a lady pulling her dress across a part of her face. The expression is of dread, and one dare say, of hope. She is with other ladies and all of them appear to face a similar fate. I thought maybe the lady is Maya, held captive at some place, and thinking of a possible escape route. Maya was in my subconscious throughout while reading the book and she continues to be in my mind.
Lajja is a honest book and tells a heart-wrenching story of a family beaten up, but unwilling to give up. It's also a story of a nation that has betrayed its people. And of religions whose only purpose seems to be to divide people. That the book was banned in large parts of our subcontinent goes to prove that we have thrown introspection out of the window. That we have no lajja.