A prayer for Shaheed Minar:
There is comfort…
in the stillness of myself
In the rhythm of my breath
and the vision in my mind
This is where I come,
when life won’t let me be…
With my head bowed in despair,
and a place to set me free
The story of the Central Shaheed Minar is spread over a period of three decades. The tragedy of language martyrdom took place in February 1952. Nearly five years afterwards the government contemplated the idea of constructing an appropriate memorial to the sacred memory of the martyrs who laid down their lives for justifying the honor of the Bengali language. The government wanted artists and architects to submit ideas and designs.
In the autumn of 1956, Hamidur Rahman returned home from England after completing his higher studies in Art, he was contacted by late artist Zainul Abedin and M A Jabbar, the chief engineer of that time. To honor their request my father submitted a model, drawings and papers relating to the concept of the memorial project. Along with other submissions that were given, Hamidur Rahman’s design was chosen.
The foundation of the Shaheed Minar was laid out on the ground of the Dhaka Medical College in November 1957. It was declared by the government that the construction would be completed by February 21st, 1958. However, this didn’t happen. Only a spacious pedestal supporting 3 columns had been built. This only provided a skeletal image of the concept my father had. The rituals of the 21st February took place in the unfinished structure. Shortly after that, Martial Law came into effect and the Shaheed Minar became a political tool. The Minar remains incomplete till today.
The Shaheed Minar found itself partially completed. My father had finished 1000 square feet of mural painting depicting the language movement in the basement of the Minar. After a lapse of more than five years, in the year of 1963-64, there was some hope. My father attempted many times to start the reconstruction of the Minar but for various reasons it never took place. Shortly after the emergence of Bangladesh the government declared its intention to reconstruct the Minar. In 1972, a new competition took place and my father’s design once again was chosen for the second time, his original design. As is well known, the design concept of the central theme of the Shaheed Minar was produced by the Bangladeshi muralist and artist Hamidur Rahman. The new negotiations, virtually on the verge of conclusion got lost in a cloud of mystery. Till today, the Minar remains unfinished, due to the various negligence of the various departments of the government.
The Shaheed Minar has made a place for itself in the lives and hearts of the Bangladeshi people despite the challenges it faced. So, how should one measure success, perhaps success should be measured by the rituals and the tears the Minar accommodates and comforts every year along with the Bangladeshi people.
My father, Hamidur Rahman was an extraordinary man. A legend in his own time. He was blessed to have extraordinary level of fame while he was alive and even more so after his death.
Through his work and love I was inspired and developed my own self-expression through poetry and was fortunate enough to publish some of my work.
My father passed away in 1988, thirty-three years ago. One thing I can say for sure is that death changes everything and time changes nothing, time only allows one space, to realign themselves…
I miss hearing his voice and the many stories of his life…
I miss standing in his presence and being able to feel his warmth…
How did life manage to change so suddenly? The deep ache still exists, except now my father has become closer to my heart and deeper in my soul. People’s lives are intertwined, at best, it is superimposed on one another.
Let me paint a picture for you…
There might come a time in the future when all seems lost. More lost than it feels right now and saying that in the year 2020/2021 (the year of the Pandemic) says a lot.
Faith in the future has become diminished. We are not going to Mars, let alone the stars. Those who try to dream of the future only have visions of the past which has already been overtaken. The world has become power without any glory.
Find a comfortable place to sit, ideally in sunlight. Let your eyes fall shut and take four clear, deep breaths. Four is the number of a square, a firm foundation. Four invokes the directions, the elements, the winds…the ancestors.
Someone once said, “Life is a window of vulnerability. It seems a mistake to close it.” What a better way to describe the present than as a window closed for so long that in its fogginess, it resembles a wall? We tap at the walls in pursuit of glass. We take reality and break it apart.
Vulnerability isn’t just about letting someone in, it’s also about getting out. We are trying, desperately, to remember a way of relating to one another. There is grief, but there is always something else we find in the remains…
Like the way a bird builds his nest, perhaps that is how we should build our homes…out of discarded emotions.
This is what I do with words. I write, and I live in these words for a while until they fall apart underneath me. I write to you from that place where the sounds have not yet the audacity…or perhaps the foolishness…to declare themselves words. There is a stillness here, and a conviction. I don’t know where I’m going but I’m not going back… I still believe in love, not in the sense of taking one’s breath away but rather in its ability to heal.
So, love is still an option, but we must remember to feel and not just be familiar with the word.
What if we’re confined to, maybe even destined to repeat time, to repeat poor choices, to repeat mistakes, to repeat the hurt and pain and suffering we are all bound to cause each other in this journey of life? Could awareness of an inescapable past and future convince us into being more compassionate? More loving? More patient? More open and empathetic?
Shaheed Minar has been a pillar of strength and vulnerability. It represents strength but it also reminds us that the human race is so vulnerable that there is no such thing as certainty, except the present moment which we all take for granted.
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Writer: Nawshaba Khuda, daughter of renowned artist and sculptor Hamidur Rahman