It is 34 years now since 26 March, 1971. The independent nation has undergone many an upheaval — social, political and economic. Where do the people stand at the moment? The answer, however, depends on whom one ask the question, as almost the entire society has, meanwhile, been divided parochially into two acrimonious political camps, led by Bangladesh Nationalist Party and Awami League, engaged in a no-holds-barred power struggle, without much difference in their political, economic and social perspectives. But to have an objective answer, one needs to remember as to why the people of this country fought for independence.
   The political aspirations behind the people’s active participation in the war of national independence was to have a representative democracy within the framework of a parliamentary system of governance; their economic aspiration was to ensure equitable distribution of wealth to be created collectively by the entire population; and the socio-cultural drive was to have a secular society with people of different faiths living in harmony with the religions playing no role in politics, or running the affairs of the state for that matter.
   The social, political and economic aspects in question became the prime drives for the struggle for national independence quite reasonably, as the erstwhile rulers of Pakistan denied the Bengalis the democratic right to govern the country despite repeated electoral victories, consistently pursued discriminatory fiscal policies to deprive the Bengalis of due economic developments, and used to obstruct the process of secular cultural accomplishments by using Islam in the vested political propaganda.
   The Bengalis, therefore, finally waged the War of Independence, of course in the wake of the beginning of history’s worst genocide by the Pakistani military junta on the frightful night of 25 March, 1971. The Bengalis deemed themselves independent just from the dawn of March 26, although it took nine months of bloodletting to really emerge as a sovereign nation state on 16 December, 1971, the day the occupation forces of Pakistan admitted defeat.
   Now, what are the achievements of independence?
   Apparently, there was hardly any achievement of qualitative type over the last 34 years, particularly in terms of the core aspirations that the ordinary people had for the nation’s independence. The country now witnesses a parliamentary system of governance with the elected representatives hardly having any meaningful role in the legislative process. Besides, the rich people, who virtually control the political process, have made electioneering an expensive process, making it impossible for the non-rich to even contest in the polls on a level playing field.
   On the economic front, the successive governments have pursued identical policies, devoid of the democratic objective of ensuring equitable distribution of national wealth among citizens, which have retained the original economic inequality of the poor and the rich despite the fact that per capita income has been increased to $444 in 2004 from $110 in 1973.
   Notably, the official data shows that in 1974 the poorest five per cent of the population owned 1.2 per cent of the total national wealth, while the richest 5.0 per cent enjoyed 16.4 per cent. When the base is broadened, the poorest 10 per cent of the population had access to 2.8 per cent of the total national wealth, while the richest 10 per cent have access to 28.4 per cent.
   In 2000, the situation got worse, from the point of view of disparity.
   The official statistics show that the poorest five per cent of the population had access to only 0.67 per cent of the national wealth, while the richest five per cent controlled 30.66 per cent of the national wealth. Again, broadening the base, the poorest 10 per cent of the population owned only 1.84 per cent of the national wealth, while the richest 10 per cent controlled 40.72 per cent of the national wealth.
   Culturally, the society seems to have taken a U-turn, particularly in terms of its non-secular growth — thanks to the crude political tactics of the power-mongering politicians using religious sentiments of the ordinary people.
   National independence provided the people of this country with enormous scope to bring about qualitative changes in the lives of the ordinary masses, but the short-sighted politicians, driven solely by parochial vested interests, have failed to do so. Still, it is important to take note that the nation has made remarkable progress in some of the important areas of socio-economic life — food production, health infrastructure, education and road communications being a few of them. The achievements would not have been possible had the country not been independent.
   The country’s food grain production increased by 270 per cent between 1971 and 2005 –– a post-independent period when the country’s population almost doubled.
   The rice production has increased to 26.18 million tonnes in the 2003-04 fiscal year from 9.77 million tonnes in the 1971-72 fiscal. The production of wheat has also marked a significant rise from 1.13 million tonnes in 1972 to 15.07 million tonnes in the 2002-2003 fiscal.
   During the period, the gap between demand for, and production of, food grain has diminished although the county is yet to achieve sustainable self-sufficiency in meeting the demand of 140 million people at present.
   Notably, the food shortfall was three million tonnes in 1972 when the country’s population was 75 million. Based on unofficial estimates, the shortfall of food is now around 2.5 million tonnes.
   Production of potato increased to a projected volume of four million tonnes this season from 0.74 million tonnes in 1971-72. A new item has also been added to the basket of food items — maize. The country currently produces around 3.5 lakh tonnes of maize, though no formal cultivation of the crop was there in the 1970s.
   In the health sector, the country managed expansion of facilities through a cross-country network.
   Reduction of the fertility rate and childhood mortality remains a couple of remarkable success. Bangladesh is the only nation in the poorest 20 that has recorded a sustained reduction in the birth rate. In 1990 women had 3.3 births, about half of the rate in 1974. Infant mortality has dropped from about 140 to 88 per 1,000 live births over the same period.
   Besides, the country is now free from polio as the successive governments continued massive immunisation programmes against six deadly diseases.
   In the late 1980s malaria was one of the major killers in the country, but the number of malarial deaths has shrunk drastically by now. According to official statistics, in 1988 malaria claimed 10,420 out of a total of 18,88,524 affected people, but the death figures and the number of affected people were reduced respectively to 170 and 82,305 in 1998, only within a span of 10 years.
   In the case of diarrhoea, the death toll was 2,733 out of 5,04,867 affected people in 1988, but it was reduced by more than 50 per cent to 1,250 out of 5,32,091.
   Bangladesh started its journey with less than the minimum health facilities in terms of hospitals, clinics, hospital beds, registered physicians, and nurses and midwives for its 75 million people at that time.
   There were only 120 government hospitals with 9,253 beds in 1971 when the country had hardly any private hospital. But the number of hospital beds rose to 44,374 in 1,277 government hospitals in 2000. The number of beds was estimated 11,500 in 265 private hospitals.
   Presently, 59 district hospitals, 402 thana health complexes, 15 rural health centres, 1,362 union sub-centres, 25 medical colleges, five post-graduate hospitals, five medical assistants’ training schools, four tuberculosis hospitals, 44 tuberculosis clinics, eight tuberculosis segregation hospitals, five infectious diseases hospitals, 35 urban dispensaries, 23 school health clinics and 96 maternity and child welfare centres are being run by the government.
   The country now has over 32,000 registered doctors and the number of registered nurses and midwives is 17,446 and 15,235 in those hospitals.
   The number of physicians in 1972 was 731 at the 120 hospitals. The country had 151 rural heath centres, 37 tuberculosis clinics and 91 maternity and child welfare centres at that time.
   Education sector, although exposed to criticism for the declining of quality, has witnessed four to six times of increase, in volume, in the infrastructure development compared to the meagre facilities in the pre-independence period.
   The total number of primary schools has increased 2.57 times, and the number of junior high schools 1.6 times.
   There were 30,518 primary and 2,002 junior high schools in 1971, and now the numbers stand at 78,363 and 3,278 respectively.
   The number of high schools was 4,160 in 1971, and stood at 13,275 till December 2003.
   The number of intermediate and degree colleges was 263 and 221 respectively in 1971, but now number is 1,459 and 1,077 respectively.
   Significant increase was seen in higher education. Bangladesh began its journey with five universities with 13,888 students in 1971. The number of universities at present is 74 — 21 public and 53 private — with 1,26,584 students.
   The number of professional educational institutes was 86 in 1971, and in 2003 the number was 235. Colleges and institutes for training of teachers numbered 68 in 1971, and the figure increased to 130 in 2003.
   Achievement in the communication sector is also not negligible. There were only 6,000 kilometres of primary and secondary road networks in the country 1971, while there are 1,82,286 kilometres road networks at present covering six broad categories: national highway, regional highway, district road, upzila road, union road and village road.
   Motorised vehicles carry about 70 per cent of the country’s total passenger and cargo volume.
   Construction of a number of bridges such as the Jamuna Multipurpose Bridge, Meghna Bridge, Meghna-Gumti Bridge, Bangladesh-China Friendship Bridge, Shambhuganj Bridge and Mahananda Bridge has made road communication easier and less expensive.
   Biman, the national flag carrier of Bangladesh, started its journey virtually from the scratch with no aircraft and no ancillaries. It came into operation immediately after the War of Independence, and now flies to 26 international and 8 domestic destinations.
   The country has presently 11 operational airports including three international airports at Dhaka, Chittagong and Sylhet, which serve international routes.
   True that the successes cited above are almost nothing, compared to those achieved by some other nations over the same period. Still, the successes, however limited they are, suggest clearly that the nation has the inherent potential to change its lot if the country’s politicians, the ultimate locomotives of the train of development, are streamlined properly, and the political process is set on a democratic path committed to the welfare of the majority.
   The writer is executive editor, New Age and can be reached at nurulkabir@newagebd.com

We could hear women and children crying in the family quarters of the East Pakistan Rifles at Pilkhana—now the Bangladesh Rifles headquarters—from my house on Dhanmondi Road 13A. There were also sounds of gunshots. I went to the roof with my wife, two daughters and a son to see what was happening.
   It was the night of March 25 in 1971. The Pakistani Army had come out of their barracks and opened fire on civilians and students.
   Standing on the roof, I tried to fathom what was going on. My son, Nadeem, went out as his friends called him soon after we had gone up to the roof. He did not return even after three in the morning. We were anxious as we could trace him anywhere but there was not much we could do. The phone lines had been disconnected before midnight. Even before, it was difficult to get a connection. I could not contact anyone for information. But I had noticed a number of army vehicles moving in the city by then.
   We could clearly see the skyline around Sheikh Mujib’s house from our rooftop. I could see three flares going up. These are generally used to indicate the commencement of an operation.
   Nadeem did return but he was not the 15-year-old adolescent anymore. He had taken out his mother’s .22 rifle. He told us how he and his friends, those who could acquire firearms from home, had gone to protect Sheikh Mujib.
   This bunch of young men had somehow realised that there would be an attack on his house on Road 32 in Dhanmondi that night. It was also the headquarters of the non-cooperation movement that had been going on for sometime then. Nadeem had crossed that threshold. Knowingly or not, this young schoolboy had joined the war that night.
   The next day, on the 26th, my two daughters came running with the transistor radio. They told me there was some sort of an announcement regarding Bangladesh. I could barely make out over the static that one Major Zia, claiming to be the president, announced the independence and asked the people to join the war. I realised then that the Bengali army officers had taken their own initiative and started up something.
   My house was only about 200 to 300 yards away from the gates of the headquarters of the East Pakistan Rifles at Pilkhana. From the sound of gunfire and the wails of women and children I had rightly guessed — which of course I came to be confirmed later on — that the army was killing the rifles personnel en masse. But I could not tell that to my family. They were all worried as it was. Everyone looked worried.
   The south side of my house faced the lake and on the north there was a street going all the way to the river. Shortly after midnight the rifles personnel kept hurrying towards the river in ones and twos. I tried to stop a few of them and ask what had happened. None of them stopped to answer. Some even pushed me away and continued.
   With the phone lines cut off and no other mode of communication with the outside world, I tried to see what my neighbours were doing, how they were. But not a single house had a light turned on.
   I do not remember how much sleep I got that night. But I awoke early. I heard gunshots out on the streets. There was a corporal walking along the street with a stengun shooting at the sky. It was merely to frighten the residents of the area.
   There was two-storey house to the east of my house. It was located on Sat Masjid Road and the tenant was a foreigner. I contacted him and got to know that he was a Yugoslavian. Upon my request he eagerly took me to his attic. I was rather surprised to see one or two armoured personnel carriers on the streets. These are generally employed as protected transports for soldiers. Were the Pakistanis apprehensive of an armed conflict? I wondered. At the same time there was still hope. If the Pakistanis were apprehensive, there must be something cooking, I thought.
   The Yugoslavian was very cordial. He offered me coffee and sitting at his dining table this man tried to allay my misgivings. He had fought in the guerrilla units under Marshall Tito during the Second World War. I still wonder how much politically aware he was, but he told me that the incidents since last night was a precursor for a people’s uprising. He said in the first phase of any guerrilla warfare the people suffer a lot but it is the people who always win. I pointed out that the people had no weapons to engage a full-fledged army. He brushed it aside saying there is never any dearth of weapons in a guerrilla war. Somehow he was sure that we would indeed acquire arms.
   I climbed over the wall and reached my house. I told my family of the encounter. I do not recall what else we talked about that day. But one thing still rings in my ears. The question my daughters asked me: ‘Dad, you are professional soldier, won’t you avenge the massacre?’
   On the morning of the 27th the curfew was suspended till two in the afternoon. I drove my Volkswagen towards the New Market to drop in on a few friends. The scene on the streets still haunts me. Pedestrians looked very worried over the events of the day before. Most were busy buying food and other essentials in the little time they had.
   I kept wondering who this Major Zia was and where he was. What were the East Bengal regiments doing? Someone told me that a battalion — the second East Bengal — stationed in Joydevpur had started to march northwards, possibly towards Tangail.
   The other concern nagging at the back of my mind was where to take my family so that they would be safe. A few relatives told me that they were heading for the Syed’s at Karatia in Mymensingh. My brother also agreed with the plan. The Syeds were the in-laws of one of my brothers.
   I returned at around noon to see that Bob and Nancy Simpson, an American couple, were with my wife. Nancy and my wife had become good friends because she was a student of psychology. I told Bob that I had nothing to fear because I was a retired Pakistani army officer. He thought otherwise and the fact that I was a former military officer was all the more reason for the Pakistanis to harm me. I did not know Bob all that well. Besides he worked for USAID, an organisation I did not hold in much high a regard. I could not get myself to agree with him.
   Eventually I decided to send my family off to Karatia along with other members of my family.
   Syedul Hasan, an old acquaintance of mine, would not let me stay at my residence after my family had left, and took me to his house. There, I began to collect information about Shafiullah, by then commanding the second East Bengal regiment. I decided to leave for Tangail via Karatia. On the night of March 29 I stayed with my family at Karatia, where I met about 20 families all of whom had left the city.
   The next day, with the help of one Shafique at the Syed’s, I managed to get a jeep to give me ride up to Tangail. The passengers included my cousin Mazharul Islam, an architect.
   At Tangail we came to know that Shafiullah had left with his forces for Mymensingh. It was about two in the afternoon by the time we had reached there. On the way the jeep was stopped a number of times by locals inquiring about the latest state of affairs.
   Mymensingh seemed deserted altogether. There were only a few pedestrians. When we mentioned soldiers they directed us towards a certain road. Upon reaching the road, I did not find any soldiers. Inside, the soldiers were sleeping with their gears on. All of them looked tired. Someone said Major Shafiullah was not there but was inside a building close by.
   It turned out to be the Teacher’s Training Institute. The sentry outside refused to let me in at first. I handed him a small note explaining who I was. He returned after a while and agreed to escort me but said others would have stay outside with the jeep.
   On the first floor, there was large table with food laid out on it and a few officers were milling about. At one point Shafiullah asked me to take over command of the battalion. I knew he was just being polite. I told him I would rather fight as an infantryman.
   With no clear political directive from the Awami League, the officers seemed desperate. They were trying to establish contact with the local AL leadership. But speaking to the officers I realised they were detached from the general public. I told them about the groups of civilians I had seen parading on the streets on our way to Mymensingh. These young men were looking for leadership from these army officers, I told them.
   It was probably the next day when we went to inspect a company of soldiers at Bhairab Bazar. We started at night and had to make a few unscheduled stops due to technical problems. Although the trip was supposed to be secret there were hundreds lined up by the platform and they threw in small packets through the window. We later found out these were mostly puffed rice, molasses and other foodstuffs. They were all chanting, ‘Joi Bangla’.

A small patch of land in the graveyard for Class IV employees at the Mashrur Airbase in Karachi, belongs to Bangladesh. We may have earned our own land but that piece of land — a grave — is our own. There lies, uncared and unmentioned, Flight Lieutenant Matiur Rahman, Bir Sreshtha. Thirty-four years after independence, even with a separate ministry for liberation war affairs, we have not yet reclaimed what is our own.
   ‘I have nothing to ask from the country now. I have had a full life. All I want for my husband is to bring him back home. He has been lying there in that grave for 34 years where they had marked his grave as that of a gaddar [traitor]. Is he not Bangladesh’s hero? Why then have his remains not been brought back yet?’ asks Matiur’s wife Milly, whose recent drive to bring back her husband’s grave has gathered momentum.
   It was August 20, 1971, several months into a ‘no flying’ restriction on all East Pakistani pilots. Matiur decided it was time to break free. He boarded a T-33 aircraft and took off with an apprentice from West Pakistan. A few minutes into the flight, the plane crashed, burying his dream to fight for his country with the weapon he knew best — flying.
   His daughter Mahim Matiur Khandakar, who was a little girl when his father left home never to come back, became the only Bangladeshi ever to visit his grave in 1994. She had grown up with the knowledge that her father was one of the great heroes who had sacrificed his life for his country. However, it was not until she was 23 that she had the chance to see her father’s grave.
   ‘She was allowed to visit the grave in 1994. On her return Mahim officially applied to the government to relocate Matiur’s grave to Bangladesh,’ says Milly.
   And as with all glorious pasts, the government forgot. It was not until 2003 that the government finally decided to build memorials honouring the seven Bir Sreshthas at their place of martyrdom. As Matiur died on Pakistani soil, the government decided to build a memorial near Bijoy Sarani in the capital.
   At the foundation-laying ceremony in 2003, Milly and Matiur’s elder brother Khorshed Alam, a retired civil servant and a former Bangladesh Bank governor, requested the government for the second time to bring Matiur’s grave home.
   ‘It is not unusual. Nations have always had the custom of relocating the graves of their statesmen and martyrs whenever and wherever appropriate. I requested the government to do so in Matiur’s case,’ says Khorshed.
   Matiur’s youngest borhter, Alamgir Kabir Samad, is also pursuing this cause now. And civic consciousness is growing too.
   Paribesh Bachao Andolan (Save the Environment Movement), a greens organisation, is planning to present a memorandum to both the president and the prime minister for relocation of Bir Sreshtha Matiur Rahman’s grave.
   ‘We believe it is a must if we are to honour our War of Independence. We plan to take this up as a movement,’ says Abu Naser Khan, convener of Paribesh Bachao Andolan.
   The memory of Matiur has been preserved in writing, at least, through publication of Bir Sreshtha Matiur Rahman Smarak Grantha by Agami Prokashani at the Ekushey Book Fair this year.
   The book, edited by Rahman, attempts to put together a proper documentation of her husband’s life.
   The Bangladesh Air Force and the Ministry of Liberation War Affairs are supposed to make a move on the relocation issue. ‘I have repeatedly sent letters to both and to the Prime Minister’s Office even. But nothing has happened yet,’ says Milly.
   As Matiur’s grandson, Rashad, visits the war heroes’ museum in Washington DC, he finds his grandfather’s name there. He asks Milly of his great ancestor. Other than a few faded photographs and tales of glory, she has nothing to show him.
   ‘My Rashad cannot go to see his grandfather’s grave,’ says Milly. ‘Why? Have we forgotten our heroes?’
   When Icharus flied high towards the sun and his wax wings melted, he had only one dream — to fly. Matiur flew too on that August morning. His dream was that of a liberated motherland. A son of our soil, our martyr, lies neglected in some land that is not his own. Like a ghost trapped in eternal twilight, Matiur’s soul may have reached the skies of Bangladesh but his bones are trapped in the soils of the condemned land.
   Should he not come back home?

Bangladesh’s food grain production has increased by 270 per cent in the years between 1971 and 2005 –– a post-independent period when the country’s population almost doubled — according to official statistics.
   The most remarkable increase in grain production has been in rice, which rose to 26.18 million tonnes in the 2003-04 fiscal year from 9.77 million tonnes in the 1971-72 fiscal, according to the figures available with the Bangladesh Bureau of Statistics.
   The production of wheat has also marked a significant rise from 1.13 million tonnes in 1972 to 15.07 million tonnes in the 2002-2003 fiscal. Wheat production reached about two-million-tonne mark in consecutive years in 1998-99 and 1999-2000.
   During the period, the gap between demand for, and production of, food grain has diminished although the county is yet to achieve sustainable self-sufficiency in meeting the demand of 140 million people at present.
   The food shortfall was three million tonnes in 1972 when the country’s population was 75 million. Based on unofficial estimates, the shortfall of food is now around 2.5 million tonnes.
   The food item in which Bangladesh has been more than self-sufficient is potato. Its production increased to a projected volume of four million tonnes this season from 0.74 million tonnes in 1971-72.
   A new item has also been added to the basket of food items — maize. Bangladesh currently produces around 3.5 lakh tonnes of maize, though no formal cultivation of the crop was there in the 1970s.
   But the country still lags behind in producing pulses and onions in comparison to the rising demand of the ever increasing population. However, the cereal, production of which has been waning over the years, is barley. Its production was 21,000 tonnes in 1971-72 and is only 2,000 tonnes now.
   The production of onion was 1.57 lakh tonnes in 1971-72 and it has now slightly increased to 1.7 lakh tonnes. The current annual demand for onion is estimated at 5.5 lakh tonnes.
   Though the domestic production of pulses has risen from 2.5 lakh tonnes in 1971-72 to 3.44 lakh tonnes, it is far below the national demand by about 1.2 million tonnes.
   The officials of the agriculture ministry attributed the dependence on import of these two items to excessive focus on cultivation of rice, especially the high yielding varieties, during the rabi crop season when onion and pulses are cultivated.
   Rice production surged after the 1988-89 fiscal when rice output increased to 17.71 million tonnes (1989-90 fiscal) from 15.54 million tonnes in a single year. Its production crossed the two-million-tonne mark in 1999-2000.
   Despite the boom in rice production, traders have so far opened letters of credit for importing two million tonnes of rice during the current fiscal. Agriculture ministry officials described this figure as controversial in view of local production. Self-sufficiency in food grain remains a contentious issue.

Three and a half decades have gone by since Bangladesh achieved independence through an armed struggle in 1971. It has made some remarkable progress in the last 34 years in spite of many obstacles. If someone talks about progress in Bangladesh, they cannot overlook the health sector despite the still inadequate facilities in terms of the country’s huge population. Its development was slow but steady.
   Being one of the most densely populated countries in the world, Bangladesh managed expansion of its health facilities through a cross-country network despite the fact that it started almost empty-handed in 1972 with a fragile economy after the nine moths of guerrilla struggle that had almost completely sapped its strength.
   As the other sectors were raised from ruin, the health sector made tremendous progress in spite of many difficulties.
   Now Bangladesh has at least the basic physical infrastructure across the country to provide health facilities to its people at the union and thana level through health centres, though they are underused as a result of the unwillingness of the skilled doctors to work there.
   Among the achievements in the health sector, reduction of the fertility rate and childhood mortality in the first three decades after liberation is a significant accomplishment. Bangladesh is the only nation in the poorest 20 that has recorded a sustained reduction in the birth rate. In 1990 women had 3.3 births, about half of the rate in 1974. Infant mortality has dropped from about 140 to 88 per 1,000 live births, according to available statistics.
   The other laudable achievement is that the country is now free from polio as the successive governments continued massive immunisation programmes against six deadly diseases.
   Deaths from the various killer diseases have been reduced remarkably because the people at the grassroots level are getting access to the health facilities, and by now villagers are aware of the health threats as well.
   Take the comparative death figures by malaria and diarrhoea of last two decades as examples. In the late 1980s malaria was one of the major killers in the country, but the number of malarial deaths has shrunk drastically by now.
   According to official statistics, in 1988 malaria claimed 10,420 out of a total of 18,88,524 affected people, but the death figures and the number of affected people were reduced respectively to 170 and 82,305 in 1998, only within a span of 10 years.
   In the case of diarrhoea, the death toll was 2,733 out of 5,04,867 affected people in 1988, but it was reduced by more than 50 per cent to 1,250 out of 5,32,091.
   Independent Bangladesh started its journey with less than the minimum health facilities in terms of hospitals, clinics, hospital beds, registered physicians, and nurses and midwives for its 75 million people at that time. Medical education and training for the health professionals were limited.
   There were only 120 government hospitals with 9,253 beds in 1971 when the country had hardly any private hospital. The scenario has changed in last 30 years as the statistics say that the number of hospital beds rose to 44,374 in 1,277 government hospitals in 2000. The number of beds was estimated 11,500 in 265 private hospitals.
   According to the office of the director-general of health services, 59 district hospitals, 402 thana health complexes, 15 rural health centres, 1,362 union sub-centres, 25 medical colleges, five post-graduate hospitals, five medical assistants’ training schools, four tuberculosis hospitals, 44 tuberculosis clinics, eight tuberculosis segregation hospitals, five infectious diseases hospitals, 35 urban dispensaries, 23 school health clinics and 96 maternity and child welfare centres are being run by the government.
   The thana health complexes were built to a standard design and include operation theatres, X-ray units, pharmacies, basic laboratories and dental units, and each has a 31-bed ward.
   The country now has over 32,000 registered doctors and the number of registered nurses and midwives is 17,446 and 15,235 in those hospitals. The number of physicians in 1972 was 731 at the 120 hospitals. The country had 151 rural heath centres, 37 tuberculosis clinics and 91 maternity and child welfare centres at that time.
   It is evident that public expenditure on the health has increased manifold since the country’s liberation. In the current fiscal year (2004-05) the government allocated a total of Tk 5,812 crore (Tk 2,080 from the annual development programme and Tk 3,732 from the non-development and development budget) for this sector. The allocation is nine per cent of the total fiscal allocation.
   The allocation for the health sector in the second budget for the 1972-73 fiscal was Tk 27.99 crore out of a total allocation of Tk 517.21 crore. The allocation included development expenditure, non-development expenditure and reconstruction of the sector as it was ravaged by the Liberation War.
   The maiden budget was for six months only (from December 16, 1971 to June 30, 1972), and the allocation was nominal in every sector as the government had to depend mostly on foreign aid at that time.

The expansion of the country’s road network has been rapid — from only 6,000 kilometres of primary and secondary road networks in 1971 to 1,82,286 kilometres covering six broad categories: national highway, regional highway, district road, upzila road, union road and village road.
   According to the Bangladesh Economic Review of 2003, the country has 3,723km of national roads, 4,832km of regional, 13,877km of district, 35,205km of upzila, 46,465km of village roads and 78,183km of urban roads which are together worth around $7 billion.
   It is estimated that motorised vehicles carry about 70 per cent of the country’s total passenger and cargo volume.
   However, transport experts say that despite this extraordinary progress, the critical issues of the road sector is to maintain and improve the network and address the problems of inefficiency and safety of roads.
   The experts suggested that expenditure meant for construction of new roads should be re-allocated to upgrading
   the existing roads and ensuring routine maintenance, especially the of core
   network.
   According to the Roads and Highways Department, Bangladesh already has a relatively high road density as more than half of Bangladeshis have a hard surface road within a distance of 3km.
   They said that in the last 34 years, construction of a number of bridges such as the Jamuna Multipurpose Bridge, Meghna Bridge, Meghna-Gumti Bridge, Bangladesh-China Friendship Bridge, Shambhuganj Bridge and Mahananda Bridge has made road communication easier and less expensive.
   They said that 4.8km Jamuna Bridge, which was opened to traffic in June, 1998, is the eleventh longest in the
   world.
   It has established a strategic link between the eastern and western regions of Bangladesh and is yielding multi-faceted benefits to the people and promoting inter-regional trade.
   Apart from enabling quick movement of goods and passengers, it is facilitating transmission of electricity and natural gas and has integrated the telecommunication links.
   According to Bangladesh Railway sources, about 32 per cent of the total area of Bangladesh is effectively served by the railways.
   The state-owned Bangladesh Railway operates a track that is 2,791km in length, employs about 35,000 people, owns a fleet of 307 locomotives, 1,240 coaches and 643 freight wagons, and provides passenger and cargo services through 454 stations.
   About two-thirds of Bangladesh is wetlands laced with a dense network of rivers, canals and creeks. Water transport is the only means available in nearly 10 per cent of the total area of the country.
   The length of navigable waterways varies between 8,372km during the monsoon to 5,200km during the dry season. The Bangladesh Inland Water Transport Authority has been established by the government for ensuring navigability of channels and maintenance of ports. The state-owned BIWTC, which is a corporation, provides passenger and cargo services in inland waterways and coastal areas of the country.
   Biman, the national flag carrier of Bangladesh, started its journey virtually from the scratch with no aircraft and no ancillaries. It came into operation immediately after the War of Independence, and now flies to 26 international and 8 domestic destinations.
   Currently Biman has 15 aircraft in its fleet, of which six are DC10s, four are Airbuses and five are Fokker 28s.
   Bangladesh has 11 operational airports including three international airports at Dhaka, Chittagong and Sylhet, which serve international routes. Air cargo and short take-off and landing services have been opened to the private sector by the government, but GMG is now the sole private airline.

The volume of educational infrastructure has increased by four to six times compared to the meagre facilities right after the country’s independence.
   The budgetary allocation to the education sector has increased, but not all that much. About 15.86 per cent of the budget outlay was allocated to the education sector in the first budget of the country. Twenty years after, in 1990-91, the allocation was 11.13 per cent of the total outlay.
   In the 1990s, the sector enjoyed the highest budget allocation — 16.44 per cent — in 1994-95. About 13.41 per cent of the current budget has been allocated for the education sector, which is the highest allocation.
   Intermediate colleges flourished the most, 5.7 times higher in number after independence. The number of degree colleges is 4.9 times higher, and number of high schools is 4.7 times higher.
   The number of intermediate and degree colleges was 263 and 221 respectively in 1971, but now number is 1,459 and 1,077 respectively; the number of high schools was 4,160 in 1971, and stood at 13,275 till December, 2003.
   The total number of primary schools has increased 2.57 times, and the number of junior high schools 1.6 times.
   There were 30,518 primary and 2,002 junior high schools in 1971, and now the numbers stand at 78,363 and 3,278 respectively.
   Significant increase was seen in higher education. The nation began its journey with five universities with 13,888 students. The number of universities at present is 74, 21 public and 53 private, with 1,26,584 students.
   There was a total of 6,260 alia madrassahs in 1971, and the number stood at 7,820 in 2003.
   The highest increase in enrolment of students was in high schools. The figure is 6.84 times higher than the figure in 1971. The number of intermediate colleges is six times higher than that of 1971.
   The number of students increased at a slow rate at the university level. About 13,888 students were studying in five public universities in 1971, and 34,432 students are studying in 21 public universities at present.
   The number of professional educational institutes was 86 in 1971, and in 2003 the number was 235.
   Colleges and institutes for training of teachers numbered 68 in 1971, and the figure increased to 130 in 2003.
   Spread of educational institutes was higher in rural areas of the country.
   Among the 16,562 secondary schools at present, 14,326 are in the rural areas and 2,236 are in urban areas. There are only 635 schools in metropolitan cities and 346 schools in the capital.
   Enrolment of girl students was more than the boys in the schools. Of the total number of school students, girls are about 53.4 per cent in rural schools and 53.8 per cent in urban schools.
   Of the 2,634 colleges in the country, 1,840 are in rural areas and 794 are in urban areas. The metropolitan cities have only 215 colleges and the capital has just 134.
   Enrolment of girl students at the college level was less than the school level. The percentage of girl students in rural colleges is 39.1 per cent and in urban colleges 38.5. The percentage of girls is 42.2 in the colleges in metropolitan cities and 47.8 in colleges in the capital.
   The number of students who appeared in Secondary School Certificate examinations in 1971 was 5,26,859 with 2,47,302 compartmental candidates, and the number of students appearing in this year’s ongoing examinations is 9,55,365.
   The country had had six education commissions and an education reformation commission since independence, but no government has heeded their recommendations.

The stock market, with its very existence in doubt under the post-independence socialist regime, has weathered through the last 34 years.
   With a number of government initiatives to encourage the private sector in business through the 80s and 90s, there has been little encouragement for the private sector to raise funds from the stock market, considered a vehicle for industrialisation in other economies.
   After independence in 1971, the wholesale nationalisation and disposal of the listed companies under the social reforms had virtually brought the operations of the Dhaka Stock Exchange to a standstill.
   The stock exchange resumed operations on August 16, 1976, followed by some pragmatic measures by subsequent governments creating a scope for the private sectors.
   Since then, the stock market, considered to be a sensitive barometer of the business environment, has witnessed an encouraging expansion every year with increasing level of confidence of the investors.
   The market capitalisation increased from only Tk 14.672 crore in 1976 to Tk 23,640 crore till date — thanks to reforms of the early 80s through disinvestment as well as tax relief measures. The 90s followed with a gradual but consistent liberalisation of the economy.
   Price of securities recorded a gain every year with a certain degree of variability before the bubble burst in 1996. At that time the Dhaka Stock Exchange benchmark collapsed abruptly from the 3,600 mark to as low as 430 in 1999.
   Understandably, crash left thousands penniless and wiped out assets worth crores. But another such crash is unlikely to happen given the reforms in the financial sector since then.
   The bank rate reduction and corporate tax measures as well as strengthening the Securities and Exchange Commission, the capital market regulatory body.
   The stock market buoyed early 2004, after a long quiet period following the crash, with renewed investors’ confidence. The general index climbed till it hovered around the 2,000 mark at a six-year high.
   The number of listed securities increased to 258 till date from just nine in 1971. But the growth pattern has not always been satisfactory taking into account the market demand of shares.
   The major weakness of the stock market is a low supply of securities as private entrepreneurs are less interested to raise funds for investment due to lack of effective guidelines.
   What is even scarier for the market observers is inconsistent policies at the government level.
   While the government stresses on widening the scope of the private sector including divestment, it is faced with a dilemma to privatise its own stakes of profitable enterprises including telephone, gas and oil companies to increase the supply of securities.
   Red-tape and bureaucratic factors, which more often than not, stymie government decisions, remain a major concern even after the 34 years of independence.
   Like many countries, the stock market in Bangladesh has the potential to play a role of catalytic agent for growth if the government makes it an attractive platform for for both domestic and foreign investment, especially when pursuing free market economy policies.

The Punjabi soldiers slowly headed north, burning down towns and villages as they went. Since the beginning of May, the villagers had started moving further north towards the woods. Many had even the crossed the border to Cooch Bihar and West Dinajpur. The border was not far off. Some would still make regular visits across the border. But, in the middle of June, when everyone saw the small town across the river in flames, those who were intending to go left for good. Only a few collaborators of the Jamaat-e-Islam and the Muslim League stayed back, along with a few old men. Desmond de Rozario, who tolled the church bell, was one of those few old men.
   Father Martin used to be in charge of the church. When he heard that the Punjabis had killed missionaries at Jessore, he too left for the city.
   ‘They are killing missionaries as well. I am going to the city. If you sense trouble, go to India. The Indians have given shelter to our people. God will take care of them,’ Father Martin had said as he drew the sign of the cross.
   His head low, drawing lines on the earthen floor with his big toe, Desmond had replied, ‘Where else can I go, Father?’
   He had thought about it a lot. Where else could he go? His fellow Santals went wherever they wished, whenever they wished. Nomadism ran in their blood, inebriated each and every mote of their being. But Desmond had come out of that nomadic euphoria many years back. He now felt like an old, sprawling banyan tree, his roots spread all over the village.
   Desmond was only twelve when the church was founded. Father Nicholas had been the priest then. It was he who had baptised Desmond. ‘Don’t leave the House of God. He will protect you,’ he had said. Desmond had been living in the church ever since.
   There was a lush green lawn beside the church. Between the lawn and the cemetery, there was a wall. Abutting the wall were two small, whitewashed rooms with a red-tiled roof. They were Desmond’s. He spent most of his time there and tolled the church bell. He believed that the Lord had endowed him with the ho1iest task of all.
   Desmond would work in the garden and clean the church in the morning. In the evening, he would play with the children whom the Lord loved. So many times the fathers had read out to him from the Bible, ‘But Jesus said, Suffer little children, and forbid them not to come unto me: for of such is the kingdom of heaven.’
   Silence hung heavy on the almost empty villages. Unlike the young, the few old men who had stayed back couldn’t keep the village alive. Waves of pain crashed down deep inside Desmond’s heart. When Nibir’s grandfather and Haripad’s uncle narrated the atrocities the soldiers were perpetrating in the city, he could not hold back his tears.
   Desmond spent the whole of July alone. He did not enjoy gardening any more. Yet he kept his mornings busy performing the daily chores of the church. He dreaded the afternoons. He wondered how and where the bubbly children had disappeared. Who had cast the evil spell? The more he thought, the heavier his heart became.
   There used to be colourful birds chirping and capering on the raintrees along the churchyard. The birds were no longer there. Also gone were the butterflies whose wings had made colourful designs on the lush lawn. Only pale sunshine sneaked through the leaves of the rain tree and embraced the church. Sighing silence shrouded the village. The air, it seemed, was the cursing breath of a witch. Desmond could only writhe in overwhelming pain.
   When it became unbearable, Desmond read the Gospel of Matthew that Father Ganguly had given him. He could not read well. The words kept fading out. Still, he would continue, spelling every word and reading out loud, ‘Now Peter sat without in the palace: and a damsel came unto him, saying, Thou also wast with Jesus of Galilee. But he denied before them all, saying, I know not what thou sayest. And when he was gone out into the porch, another maid saw him, and said unto them that were there, This fellow was also with Jesus of Nazareth. And again he denied with an oath, I do not know the man. And after a while came unto him they that stood by, and said to Peter, Surely thou art one of them, for thy speech bewrayeth thee. Then began he to curse and to swear, saying, I know not the man. And immediately the cock crew. And Peter remembered the words of Jesus, which said unto him, Before the cock crow, thou shalt deny me thrice. And he went out, and wept bitterly.’
   He wept every time he read about the Crucifixion. Yet, he would go on. He felt the holy words drove away the silence, deadly as the devil. He kept reciting from the Bible till nightfall. He dreaded the silence, despised it at the same time.
   One rain-soaked night in late August, they came to Desmond. He was cleaning the crucifix in the dim light of the hurricane. He heard footsteps at the doorway, looked up and saw three young men, drenched to their nails, standing there. Water rolled down their hair like pearl drops and their eyes sparkled in the faint light. He kept staring at them for a while. They seemed like three angels from heaven. Desmond became so overwhelmed that he could not speak.
   The three looked at each other and then one of them smiled and gently said, ‘We will stay here tonight, Desmond Dadu.’
   ‘Uncle Dasu of your village said you are a good man,’ said another.
   At first he did not know what to say to these angels who had come to stay at his place. Then he mumbled and said, ‘Why won’t I let you stay. . . you are soaking. . . you must be uncomfortable. Come and sit by the fire. . . everything is wet.’
   They put down their bags and sat by the small stove. ‘Uncle Das spoke highly of you. He said you could help us. You are the only reliable person.’
   Eighty-two-year-old Desmond blushed. What were the angels saying? He shook his head. ‘He isn’t right. But I’ll certainly help you. The Lord bless you all.’
   Desmond chatted with the boys late into the night. The angels had brought divine words for him, he thought. They knew why the birds did not sing and the butterflies did not dance any more. Only they could bring back happiness and harmony. They would bring back the sounds of joy and erase the venomous shadow from the earth. Delight sparkled in his dim eyes.
   ‘God bless you. . . . God bless you. . . .’ Desmond kept muttering.
   ‘We will teach you how to use a rifle and throw grenades,’ one angel told him with a smile.
   ‘Certainly, certainly,’ Desmond said in ecstasy and excitement.
   Time passed like a swan wading through crystal clear water. Desmond lost track of time. In the mornings he would walk down to the river bank. Sometimes he would go all the way to the city. The Punjabi soldiers ignored or teased him. At night the room lit up as the angels came and talked. Hymns rang in his ears. Meanwhile, grenades exploded and machine guns rattled in the faraway city. The sound of one grenade multiplied into a hundred and rang in his ears like the chiming of church bells. Desmond could not sleep in excitement.
   One day, before dawn, the angels said goodbye to him, wished him well, and promised to see him again.
   Once again Desmond was left alone, at the mercy of the dreadful silence, overpowering and unbearable. With the help of a walking stick he wandered about the village. He collected a few sunplant leaves for Haripad’s uncle who was suffering from rheumatism. Standing at his door he called out, ‘Haripad’s uncle, are you at home?’ But there was no reply. He stood before another locked door and called out, ‘Nibir, 0 Nibir!’ From one corner of the courtyard a mangy, hairless dog glanced at him. Desmond became petrified. The villagers had deserted the village. He walked back unsteadily towards the church and tolled the church bell. The untimely bell tolled solemnly. Perhaps this solitude and silence would some day drive him to madness.
   Often Desmond visited the village across the river. The villagers still had not abandoned the village, believing the Punjabis would not raid this remote area. The villagers had asked Desmond to move in with them and not live in the church alone. He had only nodded with a faint smile. He knew that an uprooted plant never survives.
   One night the small village across the river too was in flames. The screams and wails of helpless people filled the air. Desmond became restless in desperation, unable to do anything. Within the walls of the church he felt like a trapped mouse. Sometimes he knelt before the crucifix and mumbled something. Moments later he flung out of the church hearing the faint, desperate cries drifting through the air. A raging fire was burning houses and trees to ashes and killing innocent people ruthlessly. Desmond helplessly watched the destruction. It was as though he had been nailed to a cross.
   Desmond wept until the gloom of the night disappeared and the blazing fire had been extinguished. Supporting himself on his stick, he slowly walked towards the village as day broke. He knew no one was alive, Demons killed like that. Fire was still flickering in some places. Burnt and charred bodies lay scattered everywhere, emitting a sickening smell. Karam Ali’s family was buried under their burnt-down hut. His granddaughter still clutched a burnt doll that Desmond had bought for her. A little later, he decided to bury everyone. If left unburied, the bodies would be devoured by wolves, dogs, and vultures. He decided to pray for the departed souls. He believed all men and women were equal in the eyes of God.
   On his way to the church to fetch a shovel, Desmond suddenly stood still. Facing the river, a little girl crouched under a krishnachura tree, as if waiting for someone to fetch her. He rubbed his eyes to make sure he was not mistaken.
   He tiptoed towards the girl and asked her gently, ‘Who are you?’
   The girl was startled and did not reply. There was profound fear in her eyes.
   ‘What’s your name?’ Desmond asked again, this time more gently.
   She tried to speak but could not.
   He felt sad and hugged her. ‘What’s your name, my dear?’ he asked again.
   She desperately tried again but produced only sounds. Then she nodded.
   ‘You can’t speak, can you?’ Desmond cried out. His heart sank as he embraced the mute girl. Then the two broke into tears.
   While Desmond dug the graves and buried the charred bodies, the little girl stayed in his house. At night she accompanied him to light candles at the graves and pray for the dead. He believed the souls of those killed by the brutes would go to heaven.
   The boys came back a few days later. Desmond told them how he had found the girl. Their faces turned stiff in anger as they listened to Desmond.
    ‘We know who informed the Pakistani soldiers. We will never forgive them,’ vowed the boys.
   Before leaving, they hugged the little girl and said, ‘She’ll speak when our country gets its independence.’
   Desmond nodded and assured them, ‘Don’t worry. I’ll teach her to speak.’
   At midnight Desmond felt relieved when he heard explosions in the faraway city. In the morning he comforted the girl. ‘My dear, don’t be afraid any more.’
   Desmond thought the scoundrels had left the city. The sky no longer lit up at night, nor were there any gunshots. The sound of explosions filled his heart.
   One morning he said to the little girl, ‘Come, let’s weed the garden and sow some flower seeds.’
   The two of them raked the soil and sowed seeds of marigold, cosmos, and sunflower. Every morning they sat in the garden to see the new plants sprouting. It was a new game.
   At last Desmond confronted the dreadful moment. They had gone to sleep, happy hearing the loud explosions at midnight. Suddenly, at twilight, a loud noise at the main entrance of the church woke him. Excited, angry voices could be heard but the words were blurred. He hid the little girl and came out, leaning on a stick. Someone banged at the door. As he slowly opened the door, the scene before him chilled his blood. Surrounded by a group of hyenas, stood the angels of heaven, their hands tied behind their backs and their bodies covered with dirt and blood.
   ‘Hey, you old haggard, do you know them? They were roaming around your church,’ one of the brutes said in a shrill voice.
   Desmond glanced at his beloved angels who used to deliver divine words. He stared at them in disbelief. Their eyes still twinkled with divine light. He murmured, ‘They are the angels of heaven.’
   The hyenas howled again, ‘Why don’t you speak? Haven’t you seen them before?’
   ‘No,’ said Desmond in a trembling voice. He then walked back to the room leaning on his stick. His head drooped. He buried his face in the Holy Bible and uttered again and again,
    ‘No, my Lord, no. . . .’
   The frightened little girl sat crouched in one corner of the room. The words of Jesus on the cross rang in Desmond’s ears, ‘My God, my God, why hast thou forsaken me?’ Desmond wept silently. The uproar outside the room dragged him They were hastily making something against the wall with wooden planks. His heart seemed to shatter. What were they doing?
   In a short while the gang had made three crosses and mounted them on a pile of earth. The three angels! Oh Lord! Desmond stumbled and fell on the ground as he tried to rush towards them.
   The faces of the three angels turned blue in pain but they did not utter a sound. Desmond lifted up his head from the ground and looked at the sky against which three huge crosses were silhouetted. The sight of the crucifix in the courtyard had instigated the gang of scoundrels to plan this a killing.
   The three freedom fighters, who had blown away the enemy camp the night before, became Christs that morning. Against a cloud, Desmond seemed to see the apparition of Christ on the cross. ‘Eli, Eli, lama sabachthani?. . . my God, my God, why hast thou forsaken me?’
   The gang of brutes left noisily. The boys mumbled something, their heads drooping to one side. Blood dripped from their hands and bodies and formed a red pool on the green grass.
   Desmond rushed towards a cross and collapsed underneath it. Now he could hear the words clearly, not once but thrice. They embedded themselves in his heart. ‘Independence, my independence.’
   At that instance a terrifying sound of thunder rocked the heavens and the earth.
   Three days later, while Desmond was reading about the Resurrection of Jesus, he was suddenly distracted by the sound of footsteps at the door. Three angels stood there with smiling faces, shining eyes and pearly beads of sweat, three freedom fighters like the ones before them. The face of the mute little girl lit up again. The final words from the Gospel of Matthew flashed before Desmond’s eyes, ‘And, lo, I am with you always, even unto the end of the world.’ Gradually each word turned into millions of crucified Jesuses.
   ‘We’ve come,’ said one of the angels.
   Desmond broke into tears. Through blurry eyes he stared at thousands of Jesuses.
   
   Translated by Mahjabeen Hossain
   * ‘Jesus ‘71’ is included in 1971 and After: Selected Stories,
   edited by Niaz Zaman (Dhaka: University Press Ltd., 2001).