The way I have sustained, that can in no way be called living. I have done nothing wrong and yet I was kept under house arrest back in Kolkata for four long months. Constant pressure was exerted on me by the government to ensure that I decide to leave. Yet, I stuck to my guns and refused. I did not wish to abandon Kolkata, my beloved city, my painstakingly set-up life, and my home. I did not leave because I knew there would be no riots because of me and no one would have to die. Kolkata, I knew, would be the safest place for me to be in. It was the city where I could go out alone without any security, where no fundamentalists ever approached me, and the only people who did, did so out of love. The few times some Islamic radical leaders spoke out against me, their words were mostly politically motivated. Their words were meant to provoke, it had not even an iota of faith in it. I believe my writing had nothing to do with the incidents of 21 November. If there had indeed been a connection, then the controversy should have died down after the contentious passages were removed from Dwikhandito, and I should have been free to return to Kolkata.
I am certain that the boys who had taken to the streets on 21 November have never read any of my books. Their hatred and anger, which propelled them to pelt the police with stones, was due to some other reason and not because I was living in Kolkata. Their zeal had been carefully implanted in them.
The events of 22 November succeeded in bringing to fruition the long-nurtured conspiracy to drive me out of the country, or at least the state. What have I done? Why was I under house arrest? Why was I driven out of Kolkata? What have I done to deserve this forbidden life in Delhi, filled with uncertainty, depression and loneliness, where I am not even allowed to step out of the safe house? Why are my friends and family not allowed to see me? For what crimes have I been confined to this suffocating life? The central government claims that I have been given security. So, is that what this is, security? Have I been kept captive for my own security or for someone else’s? There are visiting hours in jail, and the prisoners know when their sentence is supposed to end. I have neither here. I do not know when I will be free from this unbearable solitude, from this terrifying insecurity and deathly stillness. In Kolkata, my house arrest had been geared to force my hand so that I would leave the country or at least the state. This new form of confinement in Delhi, is it meant to now finally drive me out of the country? Otherwise, why have these shackles been placed on me? Why have I not been allowed to go back to Kolkata even after numerous requests? Why have I not been allowed to lead a normal social life in Delhi?
There have been no processions or meetings against me in Delhi. No threats have been made against my life. In fact, the truly secular and socially aware people of the city have marched in solidarity with me and written in support of me. Why must I then live in captivity? If someone had made threats, then this security could be justified, as is the case with so many people in this country. (Abroad, I am provided security everywhere I go even though I am not a citizen of the country concerned. Isn’t India too a part of the United Nations?) Have people’s lives been disrupted? Are they sitting at home? If not, then why should I be the one to go through this?
It is not as if I have not been allowed to meet anyone thus far. However, the way it has been done is truly preposterous. They probably follow similar protocol for notorious criminals or those on death row. When I wish to meet someone, I have to tell my captors about them, detailed information about their address, their life, and who they are. This information is passed on to the higher authorities along with my request. The process typically takes a few days as the authorities then decide and let me know whether my request can be granted or not. Most of the requests are rejected. When they do decide to let me meet someone, they usually decide the time, date and duration on their own and I am simply informed about it. Then, on the stipulated date, I am packed inside a car with tinted windows and taken to a neutral place where I am allowed to meet my friend for as long as has been fixed by the authorities. Of course, constant watch is kept on what we talk about. It is indeed thrilling, this entire adventure of meeting another human being. What is it all aimed at? That I remain in constant fear, anxiety and shame, and eventually die? That I get exasperated and choose to leave this country of my own volition? It cannot surely be anything else!
I will not leave this country, though. I will not leave because there is no other country in the world which I can think of as my own. I am not the most threatened person in this country; threats are a reality in every part of the world. I have been wandering from one country to another for the past thirteen years. More than the fundamentalists, it is the politics that seeks to submit to each of their demands that has caused me harm. The radicals did not oust me from Bangladesh, the government did. That I have not been allowed to return till now is also their doing. I do not believe that the government is concerned about my security. The Government of Bangladesh has always been more preoccupied with their own safety and sustenance.
I do not wish to think of India as Bangladesh. I truly believe that the government here is capable of letting me live my normal life with the minimum amount of security that I might require. I believe that it is baseless to assume there will be riots and deaths because of me. There were nefarious reasons behind these rumours, reasons that still persist. There have been no riots anywhere in the world because of me. Writers do not cause riots. Some fanatics have been offended by certain passages in Dwikhandito. Before it was banned, and after the ban was repealed, the book sold freely everywhere and no one protested. Instead, I have been threatened with riots so as to drive me out of my home. I will keep repeating—I have done nothing wrong. In fact, I have even stated that I did not write anything hoping to hurt someone’s sentiments and I am truly sorry if that has inadvertently happened. After I cut out two passages from my book, even Maulana Madani of the Jamiat Ulema-e-Hind, who had spewed venom against me previously, had admitted that the matter was closed and that I could live anywhere in the country, in whichever city I chose. Which powers are then obstructing my way back to Kolkata?
Imam Barkati and Idris Ali had had so much to say because they had been encouraged to do so. Back in 2006, the imam had happily issued a fatwa and put a price on my head. Prasun Mukherjee, the commissioner of police, had called the imam to his office and after the meeting Barkati had summarily denied the entire episode. In fact, he had come out of the room and denied ever having issued a fatwa at all! Why isn’t there anyone today to teach people like Imam Barkati and Idris Ali that no one has the right to oppose democracy, human rights and the freedom of expression? In a democratic nation no one has the right to issue fatwas, create terror or cause riots. If they are felicitated after every act of terror they commit, why will they ever refrain from violence and terrorism?
What crime have I committed? I see everyone as human first—be it Hindu, Muslim, Christian or Buddhist. Is that wrong? I desire equality among all and I write tirelessly on behalf of humanity and equal rights. I write about the people and for the people despite much opposition from fundamentalist, conservative, narrow-minded factions. I have always been steadfast in my support of the poor and the downtrodden, those deprived of education, health and civic amenities, whose human rights are violated because of differing religious beliefs. That is how I have stood by the Muslim population of West Bengal, how I had stood by the Hindu minority in Bangladesh. The self-serving fundamentalists who wish to use Islam for their narrow political gains cannot be considered suitable representatives of the Muslims of Bengal.
Is it not time yet to ascertain who the true enemies of society are? Is it not time yet for my freedom from this irrational captivity? Have I been completely foolish in trying to spread the word of humanity and free thought in India? What am I being punished for? Do the people of India simply desire to see me wither away from this pain, suffering, depression and dark emptiness that I have been subjected to thus far? That I should die, homeless, stateless, without a society or any friends? What am I being punished for in this s
ecular democratic country?
I have never been actively involved in politics, nor do I understand it. I demand that these political games being played with a writer be stopped. I demand a space where one can write, where free thought is encouraged, where there is no fear or coercion. This is my ardent request to this nation, a nation which has provided shelter to the needy since time immemorial. I am proud of India’s liberal heritage and I wish I can continue being proud of India as an author, for the rest of my life.
Those of you who have stood by me, who have been resolute in the denunciation of the injustices committed, you have my undying gratitude. I beg of you to rescue me, to free me from this relentless psychological trauma. You are my friends, the only family I have left, my last stand. I continue to endure because of the faint hope that one day I will be free. That is the only light left in my otherwise dark world.
1 January
‘Buddhadeb threw Taslima Nasrin out of Kolkata only because he wanted to appease the fundamentalists.’—Mahasweta Devi46
I was supposed to meet Svensson today and the meeting finally happened. The poor foreigner, he does not know the roads of Delhi! He was led from one place to another, through forests and what not, taken round and round, before being brought to this secret place designated for the meeting.
We spent a fair amount of time together. A lot of good food had been arranged for us and we were also allowed to go for a stroll in the field nearby. It seemed like the entire world was being handed over to us! Since August last year, I do not remember having touched the earth even once.
2 January
The Association for Protection of Democratic Rights (APDR), a human rights organization in Bengal, held a seminar today in the Mahabodhi Society Hall demanding I be allowed to return to Kolkata. Mahasweta Devi was the chairperson while Dipankar Chakraborty, Sujato Bhadra, Shuvaprasanna and Ananya Chattopadhyay spoke at the assembly. Shankha Ghosh, Aparna Sen and Shaoli Mitra were also supposed to attend the event but could not make it in time due to various reasons. Pratul Mukhopadhyay sang at the programme; I heard it over the phone. Such a stunning song he had composed for me! I have been an ardent fan for a long time though we have never met. We will surely meet one day in Kolkata.
Today was Svensson’s last day in India. We spent the afternoon together though I cannot say I truly feel anything for him. If it had been someone else in my place, someone with a smidgen of self-confidence or awareness, that person would probably have never spoken to him again. After he left, I kept thinking what an odd man he was. He had quite unapologetically enjoyed the hospitality extended to him by the government. Would I have been able to do the same in his place? Perhaps not, since I would have died of mortification if a country had had to spend on me against their wishes. I would have tried to live within my means just like I have always done whenever I have been abroad. Till date, I have never accepted a foreign nation’s pity or charity, though I was entitled to it as someone seeking political asylum. My captors have taken Svensson around to the Taj Mahal, and to Jaipur and Delhi. The government has also paid his hotel bills and other expenses. I had told him he should be paying these bills, but he had told me to let it be. I accept that I had requested my captors to show him around a bit, to help and guide him a bit, since I was not able to do it. My captors did more than I had asked for. I wonder why they did though. They treated Svensson like a valued guest; perhaps to make me happy they took on every responsibility related to him. Had they assumed he would see my terrible circumstances and convince me to leave India, even take me with him to Sweden? Whatever my captors may have thought, Svensson should not have taken such advantage of their hospitality. He should have politely thanked them and told them he would be covering his own expenses. Some people will even eat shit if it is for free! There is a popular assumption that foreigners, especially Swedes, don’t cheat or cause trouble for other people. It is a completely false piece of information. If allowed, they will drain your veins dry. They are perhaps less devious to each other but the moment it is someone else belonging to some other nation, they are relentless. I have seen this trait of selfishness more among foreigners than I have among people of our nations. Among my own people, I have mostly found kindness, generosity and selflessness.
It is undeniable that there will be positives and negatives in every culture and a lot depends on the individual person one is meeting and working with. The amount of money that has been spent on Svensson is truly startling and I want to pay it back any way I can. Money is already being spent on me. Separate arrangements would obviously have to be made if my friend is not being allowed where I have been kept. However, Svensson should have offered to pay on his own. I was the one who became overtly emotional and foisted him on someone else. He had known he would not be able to stay with me even before he started for India. So, why should I have to take on the entire responsibility for his visit? Why am I so naïve? It is not as if I have not been on the receiving end of Svensson’s selfishness and narrow-mindedness. He too has made me cry, he too has taken advantage of my helplessness. This grand welcome and generosity, he does not deserve any of it. Whatever he has been offered, he has taken with both hands. I know for a fact that if I tell him tomorrow that I have to take care of the expenses of his stay in India, he would just silently listen, nod in agreement, and let it pass.
My mother’s traits are in my DNA and I can never run away from it. I have always forgiven the scoundrels of this world. Just like my mother, forgiveness and love have forever tainted my blood. My mother has only ever been hurt by people in return. The same fate probably awaits me.
3 January
Except for Dainik Statesman, no other newspaper has reported the event held yesterday. The Statesman has been resolute in its opposition to the CPI(M), which explains why the newspaper has continued to write about the abuse I have faced at the hands of the party. Of course, one must admit that this is truly a courageous stand! Even Mamata Banerjee is against the CPI(M) but till date she has not uttered a word on my behalf. She has been known to raise a hue and cry over the smallest of indiscretions by the government, but in this case she has been remarkably restrained. Not even once has she said anything critical about the CPI(M). Anandabazar Patrika too has capitulated, though I am not sure if it is only surrender or an accord is in place. They have been silent for a long time and they have not written about the Mahabodhi Society assembly either. Doubts about Anandabazar’s integrity had begun to form ever since they went against popular opinion and sided with the government on the Singur and Nandigram scandals.
Prasun Bhowmik had requested me for a statement that was to be read out at the assembly. I had promptly written one. This has been a persistent habit. The moment there is a request, I can finally get some writing done. I had told them repeatedly that the report was only meant to be read out, not published. However, the moment it was read, Mahasweta Devi declared that it was going to be published in the Statesman.
That can only mean one thing. The account will spread like wildfire, as journalists usually pounce upon anything I say which can be perceived as being critical of the government. They never pause to think how a report like that affects me. Did the journalists in Jaipur not reveal my hotel room number to the media despite being aware that fundamentalists were after my head? For every honest and forthright journalist, there is another who is corrupt and morally bankrupt. A fellow from the Press Trust of India (PTI), with whom I shared a very cordial equation and who had justifiably been very anxious about how I was doing, had nonetheless refused to go to the Mahabodhi Society event. He would rather write citing secondary sources, firmly ensconced behind his desk, that too on facing pressure from Delhi. Besides, I am usually just a phone call away. Instead, most journalists merely report many things attributed to me, instead of verifying what I have actually said. They expose potentially anti-government statements, never pausing to hear my arguments for them. What they crave is a bomb for the headlines.
Tapan Raychaudhuri came
to Delhi for a few days and asked to meet me. My captors made arrangements in the same old place yet again. It seemed they were far more excited about the meeting than even I was. It was a delight meeting Tapan Raychaudhuri. He has always been very fond of me, or else why would he wish to meet. Apparently, he had come to Delhi for two specific reasons: to meet Mr B, which he had done immediately after his arrival, and then to meet me. The primary reason, of course, had been to talk to Mr B about me. I was justifiably excited to hear what Mr B had had to say about me. When was he going to allow me to return to Kolkata?
Instead of answering any of these questions, he kept staring at my captors for a long time before stating:
Tapan Raychaudhuri (TR): They seem to be RAW agents.
TN: RAW agents? I don’t think so.
TR: I am sure they are RAW agents.
TN: They are good people. They have taken good care of me. However, what I need the most is to be allowed to return to Kolkata, to be allowed to lead a normal life like before.
The more I insisted on knowing about Kolkata, about the possible dates when I could return, the more he kept trying to evade my questions. Instead, he kept telling me about how dangerous a threat the fundamentalists still were, how their pistols were poised and their swords unsheathed, ready to strike me down.
People who have spent a majority of their life in a secure environment abroad get scared easily. He was probably thinking that a very powerful, radical Islamic group had me on their kill-list. He was probably thinking about my security. Anyway, after his conversation with Mr B, what he had understood was that there was no way I was going back to Kolkata any time soon.
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