My father Lt. Col. M. Abdul Qadir, had fallen to bullets many decades ago. But he lay in the wilderness, until I reached to claim that little piece of land which has been my father’s grave.
It was at the army headquarters in Dhaka from 2007 to 2011. Pain and anguish was the order of the day as many tried to destroy that piece of land marked as the great martyr’s grave.
But the dismal feeling soon faded away in 2011 when Prime Minister Sheikh Hasina made arrangements for his remains to be taken from the grave in Chittagong to be buried with full state and military honour in Qadirabad Cantonment, Natore, named after him.
On that day I again visited him to say, “Papa stay in peace. I am fine.”
The cool breeze and the greenery of Qadirabad Cantonment is special in its own way. His grave in black tiles and the walls as a backdrop stands out. The display board narrates his life and work for the Liberation War, shining, as though the hero still lives on.
Recently, as I stood by his grave, I reminisced our days together. I was only ten when he left for the war only to return to be arrested and killed by the Pakistani army. He came back to see his wife carrying his second son Naweed Qadir. Back then, he used to tell me that soon I will have a brother to play with and, I as his eldest, should do my part. Naweed was born on 28 April 1971, 11 days after my father was tortured and eventually shot dead for desiring a land called Bangladesh.
My father also shared how he fell in love with my mother, Hasna Hena; especially her long, black hair. She was renowned in her hometown Rangpur for her beautiful hair. Many say that I have inherited it from her.
My father narrated his dreams of an independent Bangladesh, free from Pakistan; a country where everyone will be treated justly and be in peace. He believed the Father of the Nation, Sheikh Mujibur Rahman will ensure a fair state.Until we found his grave, years of restlessness and uncertainty tainted our lives. We did not know whether he was alive or dead. My mother who was in denial would not believe he is no more. She died in 1999. His grave was what I had sought for 36 years and upon finding it, I could finally close this painful chapter once and for all. He may not be with us but we carry his legacy and love in our hearts.
Sometimes I think the two had met in heaven and helped me find his grave, watching from above how I handle the whole matter. I feel at peace knowing I haven’t failed them.
The writer is the Press Minister of Bangladesh High Commission in London, United Kingdom.