Please do not come to me to recount the tale of freedom
Please do not narrate to me how an indestructible voice emerged
From inside a roaring tide on the fiery afternoon of 7 March
How the earth’s soil trembled at his sky-rending cry of thunder!
In the afternoon of that day I was also a brave youth
With you at Ramna;
On the sun-drenched ground from noon that day
The rural peasants, factory workers, middle-class folks,
Prostitutes from Rathkhola and Kandupatti, shy housewives,
Poets, brave writers, journalists, intellectuals, party leaders-workers,
Even dodgy prisoners who fled by breaking jails were coming;
As if the clouds on Bangla’s sky were falling on Ramna’s bosom as rains.
And all the paths-ports and roads, the whole of Ramna Park
Were submerged by the over-flowing procession of millions.
Only one immortal slogan ‘Joy Bangla’
Was echoing from their voices.
In their hands were sharp weapons of numerous colours and shades,
It seemed as if the perilous lava billowing out from Vesuvius
Would devour the whole world all of a sudden.
There was no fatigue in that wait; fire was raging inside the rib-bone
The vigorous time of cherished hope was passing slowly,
The luminous prince had not yet arrived –
At whose call the rivers and fields, villages, markets and ports
Rush towards a terrain even after waking from slumber;
Arrived all the grass-flowers, a teenage girl alone
Holding the fragrant wreaths of rose, she was looking in amazement
At the podium floating on the tide of a huge crowd;
A bare-bodied teen was singing alone
The song of Bangla’s awakening after reaching the TSC corner;
At that very moment amid the resonant slogans of millions
Through the tides of a sea of people in a proud posture
Climbed on the stage that beloved luminous prince of ours.
He had on him a white Panjabi, a pyjama of white colour
And that radiant black coat wrapped on his body like a kin.
There were back-brushed hairs, that beaming pose on the face,
The moment he stood before the microphone,
The sky and the air of Bangla were vibrant, as the whole ground
Trembled at the sky-rending shouts of millions.
Then the silence of a calm river descended on the daylight ground
of March.
What song would emerge from that voice?
Silent moments were passing in anticipation,
The heart was shaking in doubt; the eyes were getting wet with tears;
At that moment, that heart-rending message was pronounced
By that beloved voice of thunder:
“This time the struggle is for our freedom,
this time the struggle is for the independence.”
From then on we were free, from then on
The word freedom spread towards the midnight of 26th March.
Overflowing the sky, soil, the earth and solar system,
Then came the 16th of December
Our Victory Day. The name of a new homeland blossomed
On the world-map like a new sunrise:
Bangladesh
Bangladesh
Bangladesh.
Translation: Dr Helal Uddin Ahmed
