Nazrul’s ‘Aamar Shyamla Boron Bangla Mar Roop’(The Dusky Beauty of My Mother Bengal) has been translated from Bengali by Professor Fakrul Alam. Click here to read.
Who can Blow Out the Sun?, a Balochi poem by Ghulam Hussain Shohaz, has been translated by Fazal Baloch. Clickhere to read.
Chapter 3of Isa Kamari’s novel, The Throne,has been translated by the author from Malay. We will be running the whole novel as serial through the year. Click here to read.
Half-a-beat Behind, a poem, has been written by and translated from Korean by Ihlwha Choi. Click here to read.
Pothik (Traveller), a poem by Tagore, has been translated from Bengali by Mitali Chakravarty. Click here to read.
Art by Salvador Dali (1904-1989). From Public Domain
Humans for a long time lived in a world that was centred around them. The planets, plants, animals existed to serve them. The resultant effect was not exactly what could be called ‘pleasant’. Climate change and extinctions are proof of that. One cannot of course be held responsible for the extinction of giant dinosaurs for they were long gone before us. Would we have existed in our current form if they had not become extinct?
Perhaps, part of evolution is extinction of the old and birth of the new. However, we are the only species to have used the planet to suit our own needs. We evolved technology. Technology birthed computers and eventually, artificial intelligence. Almost a century ago, Isaac Asimov spun out science fiction about robots terraforming worlds for men. In these novels, he had instituted the laws of robotics, so that they would not harm humans. His robots were humanoids with AI.
As humanity races towards a tech savvy existence with AI taking on roles which were essentially human tasks, perhaps, we have to ask ourselves some salient questions. Ravi Varmman K Kanniapan has voiced such valid concerns over the deployment of AI in his essay. He writes: “The question should not merely be whether artificial intelligence can make institutions faster, cheaper, or more productive. The deeper question is, for whom?” While pondering over this issue, if we take a look at Farouk Gulsara’s experiences pedalling through Kyrgystan and Kazakhstan, one wonders if AI impacts the whole world or will it deepen divides between technocrats and people who live closer to nature! Sailing through the Australian seas, Meredith Stephens takes us on an adventure to Port Hedland. Her narrative is accompanied by beautiful photographs by Alan Noble.
While Suzanne Kamata introduces us to mores on the artistic ethos of Japan, Jun A Alindogan expresses concerns over linguistic forays. Saeed Ibrahim steps into nostalgia taking us to a tiny town called Deolali and Kuldip Raj Chopra muses philosophically gazing back and forth to reflect on life lessons. In a contrary vein, Devraj Singh Kalsi splashes comic frivolity as he describes his attempts at purchasing bedsheets!
Niaz Zaman has shared a learned essay on women writers in Nazrul’s magazine, Dhumketu (Comet), in the early twentieth century, while Professor Fakrul Alam has translated the lyrics of a song by the poet from Bengal. Fazal Baloch has brought to us a powerful Balochi poem by the late Ghulam Hussain Shohaz in English. Isa Kamari has shared the third chapter of his self-translated Malay novel, The Throne, weaving in life in the newly-minted Singapore of the mid-twentieth century. Ihlwha Choi has translated his own Korean poem on how he found poetry. Winding up the translations, is a poem by Tagore called Pothik (traveller).
We have an interesting excerpt from a ‘The Brown Hand’, a spooky story by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle from The Raj in Ghostly Light, edited by B.C.Dutt. One has to realise while reading such stories that what is seen as a controversial attitude in today’s world could well have been an accepted norm a century or two ago. We have another excerpt from a more modern non-fiction — Bhaskar Parichha’s recent translation from Odia of Janaki Ballav Patnaik: An Unfinished Memoir. Describing the art of tattooing is yet another excerpt from a story by Hannah Stevens, a writer shortlisted for the W&A Working Class Writers’ Prize, which follows her conversation with Keith Lyons.
Short stories have wound their way into our reviews section too. Somdatta Mandal has discussed Geetanjali Shree’s Once Elephants Lived Here: Stories, translated from Hindi by Daisy Rockwell. Mandal writes: “The book…presents a great challenge to the layman reader who cannot simply pick it up and start reading at leisure. One must read meticulously, ponder over the distortion of the usual short story genre, keep track of the convoluted or sometimes half-finished sentences and wonder where the narrator or the protagonist of the story is leading you – sometimes round and round and without reaching a denouement. All said and done, one must pick up this book to savour how post-modern storytelling can become an art in itself.” Rakhi Dalal has written about Teresa Rehman’s Her Hajj Story: Travel Diaries of Women Pilgrims from Assamwhile Farah Imam elaborates on Raina/Rituparna Khan’s Her Story: Beyond Dimension. Parichha has brought to us Reetika Khera’s Freebies or Rights: Rethinking India’s Social Policy. He writes: “Freebies or Rights presents a case for seeing social protection not as charity, but as part of the infrastructure of a democratic society. Its central message is both simple and consequential: dignity cannot be secured by economic growth alone. For millions of Indians, it also depends on whether the state can make basic rights real in everyday life.”
Though we reflect on diverse themes in this issue, the collective concern is for the welfare of our species, our planet and our very existence, occasionally drizzled with humour. Do pause by our contents page to browse on our October issue.
We are hugely grateful to all the contributors, our team who step in to help create the content and put it before all our readers, especially Sohana Manzoor for her wonderful artwork. We remain thankful to all our readers without who our efforts would be in vain.
Nazrul’s magazine, Dhumketu, and Nazrul (1899-1976). From Public Domain
Dhumketu[1]was a bi-weekly Bangla paper edited by Kazi Nazrul Islam. It started publication on 26 Sravan 1329 /11 August 1922, in a four-page format, but later expanded to eight pages. Rabindranath’s poem, hailing the launch of this paper, was used as an epigraph. The paper contained several of Nazrul’s own writings – apart from the editorial – such as a reprinting of ‘Bidrohi[2]’ in the inaugural issue, the poem Muharram in the Muharram issue of 20 pages (1329 /August 1922), ‘Agamoni[3]’ and ‘Anandamoyeer Agamone[4]’ in the 9 Ashwin/ 26 September 1922 issue. The police raided the office of Dhumketu on 8 November, but Nazrul was not there. He was finally arrested on 23 January 1923 on charges of sedition. The paper dated 13 Magh 1329/27 January 1923 contained his ‘Rajbandi’r Jabanbandi[5]’ along with poems and pieces on him. Nazrul was jailed for a year, and the paper was suspended for a time. It appeared later under the editorship of Biren Sen Gupta and Amaresh Kanji Lal, but it did not have the earlier revolutionary fervour. It became irregular and from March 1923 publication stopped.
Selina Bahar Zaman retrieved the facsimiles of the issues of Dhumketu. From this valuable collection we realise that from the very beginning, the paper was not only meant to voice Nazrul’s anti-British views but also to reveal his non-communal and non-gendered outlook.
The contributors to the paper included both Muslim and Hindu writers, male and female. The advertisement of Himani Snow on the cover of the inaugural issue – and in many subsequent issues – suggests that Nazrul expected the paper to be read by women as well as men. From the inaugural issue the presence of women writers is noticeable.
Some women writers wrote a number of times, but there were at least ten women who wrote at least once. One of these included a ten- or eleven-year-old girl as well as a thirteen-year-old girl, the former Hindu, the latter Muslim. Sri Birajsundari Devi, Promila’s aunt, whom Nazrul called “Ma”, and who would help him break his fast at Hooghly Jail and to whom the poet later dedicated his book Sarbahara (1926)[6], gave him her blessings in ‘Mayer Ashish’ [7]in the inaugural issue of Dhumketu. She also wrote a piece – ‘Nari Kalyan[8]’ – for the issue. Masuda Rahman (1885-1926) wrote several times – always appearing as Mrs. M. Rahman; Roquiah Sakhawat Hossein (1880-1932) –– writing as Mrs R. S. Hossein – contributed the excerpt of an essay and a poem.
Roquiah Sakhawat Hossein was born and brought up in a conservative Muslim family of Pairaband, Rangpur. Forbidden to read and write Bangla or English as a child, she managed to learn both so well that she could write fluently in both. For women of her generation, she was a beacon of light, extolling the importance of education in improving the lives of women. Roquiah Sakhawat Hossein was greatly helped by her brother and later by her husband, Sakhawat Hossein, to learn how to read and write, both Bangla and English.
Knowing her passion for education, Sakhawat Hossein left her a considerable sum of money to start a school. Five months after her husband passed away on 3 May 1909, she started a school in his name at Bhagalpur where she was residing at the time. However, she was unable to continue to live there and moved to Kolkata, where, two years later, on 16 March 1911, she re-started Sakhawat Memorial School at 13 Wellesley Lane. At the time of her death on 9 December 1932, there were more than 100 girls studying at the school.
A newer version of the book with a portrait of the author. Originally published in 1905. From Public Domain
Apart from teaching, she also wrote, in Bangla and English, in Kolkata magazines about her concerns for women, about purdah, and about her school. Roquiah’s first publication was not in Bangla but in English. Her story, “Sultana’s Dream”, for which she is well-known internationally today, appeared in the Indian Ladies Magazine (Madras) in 1905. Three years later, her Bangla translation of this story came out in book form from S. K. Lahiri and Co., Kolkata.
Perhaps the earliest Bangla essay of hers that was published was ‘Pipasha (Thirst)’. This piece about Muharram was published in Nabaprabha in Falgun 1308 (mid-February to mid-March 1902). She also wrote in other journals such as Mahila, Nabanur, BharatMahila, Al-Eslam, Bangiya Mussulman Sahitya Patrika, Saogat, Sadhana, Naoroz, Mohammadi, Sahityik, Sabujpatra, Muezzin, Bangalakshmi, Gulistan, Mah-e-Nau. It is not known whether Nazrul and Roquiah ever met in person, though in Nazrul’s novel Bandhon Hara[9] (published serially in Moslem Bharat from 1921) many of the sentiments voiced by the women letter writers seem to presage what Roquiah would later say in her essay ‘Subah Sadek[10]’ in Muezzin (Asharh-Sravan 1337/mid-July-mid-August 1930.)
A sizable extract from Roquiah’s essay ‘Pipasha’ is included in the Muharram issue of Dhumketu. A poem of hers, ‘Nirupam Bir[11]’, was also published in Dhumketu that year. In ‘Pipasha’, she reflects on the plight of the group of warriors, women, and children accompanying Hazrat Imam Hossain on his tragic journey to Karbala. In an age when copyright was not taken seriously and essays, stories, and poems were freely published in different journals, it is not clear whether Nazrul took permission from Roquiah to republish this piece. Though the essay is about Muharram, the piece is divided into two sections, with the second part describing the grief after a loved one died without having a last sip of water. Dhumketu included only the first part in which the focus is on the tragedy of Karbala.
The only other piece by Roquiah to appear in Dhumketu was a poem, ‘Nirupam Bir’, published on 5 Ashwin 1329/22 September 1922. Unlike ‘Pipasha’, the poem does not seem to have been published before.
‘Nirupam Bir’ is a remarkable poem from a woman who has been called an “Islamic Feminist.” The 1 Bhadra 1329/ 18 August 1922 issue of Dhumketu had published a photograph of the revolutionary Kanailal Dutt (1888-1908). Perhaps this inspired Roquiah to write the poem. Kanailal was a revolutionary belonging to the Jugantor Group. Arrested with a number of other revolutionaries, he was imprisoned in Alipore Jail. There, along with another revolutionary, he succeeded in assassinating Narendranth Goswami, a government approver. Kanailal was hanged on 31 August 1908. He was the second revolutionary to be hanged by the British after Khudiram Bose – whose picture also appeared in Dhumketu.
In her poem, Roquiah eulogises Kanai as the dauntless warrior. The poem begins with the magistrate ordering Kanai to be hanged. But Kanai – addressed here as Shyam, another name of Krishna – laughs. The one who willingly sacrifices his life does not fear hanging. “Moriya kanai hobe omor/ Shadhyo ki bodhe tarey?” (By dying Kanai will become immortal. Who can slay him?) The poem ends with a strident call: “Bolo bolo ‘Bande Shyam,’” (Proclaim, proclaim, ‘Long Live Shyam’). It was a very brave piece of writing by Roquiah, the widow of an official who had served the British and the founder of a school for Muslim girls.
Unlike Roquiah who appeared only twice in Dhumketu, Mrs. M. Rahman appears frequently. Her first name was Masuda, but she wrote as Mrs. M. Rahman for Dhumketu.
Masuda Rahman was the daughter of Hooghly’s Public Prosecutor Khan Bahadur Mazharul Anwar Chowdhury. Apart from learning how to read the Quran, she learned some Bangla and Urdu at home. At the age of eleven, she was married to Kazi Mahmudur Rahman, Zamindar of Furfura, who was at the time Registrar of Calcutta. Her early marriage did not deter her from following her own interests. She wrote essays and also a novel Ma O Meye[12].
It is not known how Masuda Rahman met Kazi Nazrul Islam, but Professor Rafiqul Islam says she treated “Nazrul like a son.” (Nazrul had been estranged from his mother for some time. Perhaps, the longing for a mother led him to call Mrs. M. Rahman and Birajsundari Devi “Ma”. He would dedicate two of his books to them.)
Mrs. M. Rahman played a prominent part in Nazrul’s marriage. Nazrul had fallen in love with a girl named Ashalata – whom he would rename Promila after their marriage – and brought both Ashalata and her mother Giribala to Kolkata in 1924. Nazrul was 23, Ashalata just 16. There were obvious difficulties in this marriage between a Muslim man and a young girl of a different faith[13]. It was Mrs. M. Rahman who organised the wedding which took place on 25 April 1924, according to Muslim rites, though Ashalata did not change her religion. Seven years later, Nazrul dedicated his book Bisher Banshi[14] to Mrs. M. Rahman:
Fiery serpent girl of Bengal, the pride of Muslim women The manifestation of my mother on Earth, Mrs. M. Rahman sahiba, I lay this at your feet. (Translated by Nashid Kamal)
Before Mrs. M. Rahman got involved in Nazrul’s personal life, she was publishing frequently in Dhumketu. In fact, in the 29 Agrahayan 1329/15 December 1922 issue of Dhumketu, her name and the title of her piece are prominently displayed on the cover of the magazine. In the Muharram issue of Dhumketu, in which Roquiah’s ‘Pipasha’ also appeared, she wrote an essay titled ‘Amader Abhab Abhijog[15]’ for the section ‘Sandhya Pradeep[16]’. In this piece she points out that women are not weak, that they do not always need the support of a tree like a weak vine. They want freedom and independence.
In an earlier issue of Dhumketu for ‘Sandhya Pradeep’ she wrote ‘Amader Swarup[17]’, calling upon women to awaken. She writes that the call to awaken is everywhere, and quotes lines from a poet, Parimal Kumar, who calls upon the sisters and mothers of Bengal to awaken. A few paragraphs later she reminds women that they have a lot of work to do: “Narir sharthak korar sahasra poth achhey. Bibaho chharao korbar kaj achhey.” (There are many ways to make women feel fulfilled. Apart from getting married there are many things for women to do.) In ‘Panch Mishali’[18] in the 21 Kartik 1329/ 31 October 1922 issue of Dhumketu, she begins by saying she is out of sorts and therefore will provide some humorous anecdote.
Apart from Mrs M. Rahman, other women also wrote for the column ‘Sandhya Pradeep’. In the 14 Kartik 1329/31 October 1922 issue of Dhumketu, Sri Mahamaya Debi wrote an essay titled ‘Narir Mukti Kon Pothe[19]’. This essay was continued in the 1 Agrayahan 1329/17 November issue of Dhumketu in the same column along with two other essays by Srimati Nonibala Debi (‘Boneder Kotha’[20]) and Charushila Mitra (‘Narir SarthakothaKisher[21]’) In the 26 Agrahayan/12 December issue, Srimati Saktibala wrote a poem “Boner Dabi” which begins with the lines “Mukti dao/ Mukti dao/Supti dao/Bhai tora[22].” The second stanza reads: “Swadhinatao dao/Dao go dao/ Dao go dao/Pran bhora.” Srimati Nalini Basu and Srimati Chanchala Debi wrote ‘Mayer Bodhon’[23]under ‘Sandhya Pradeep’ in the issue of 30 Ashwin 1329/17 October 1922 welcoming the Goddess Durga. Young girls, Hindu and Muslim, were also writing. Srilila Mitra, who was ten or eleven years old, wrote two poems: ‘Bangali’ – “Ay, ay/Chhute ay/Ay tora /Bangali[24]” – in the 26 Ashwin/13 Oct issue of Dhumketu and ‘Khun-Khoshroj[25]’ in the 30 Ashwin/ 17 October issue. Rizia Begum, the thirteen-year-old daughter of Abdur Rahim of Noakhali also contributed a poem titled “Arab” in the 14 Kartik/Oct 31 issue of Dhumketu. Srisarashibala Basu wrote the poem “Bhai-Phonta[26]” in the 3 Kartik/ 20 October issue of Dhumketu.
Generally, Nazrul alone is associated with Dhumketu, but, as seen from these examples, women too were writing for the paper. And, if the ad for Himani Snow – which appeared on the cover of the inaugural issue of Dhumketu and continued to appear in other issues as well – suggests the desire of women to beautify themselves for men, it also stresses that the paper was meant for women readers, not only men. Significantly, the women writers who wrote for Dhumketu not only demanded rights for women, but they were also inspired by Nazrul’s revolutionary fervour to call upon men and women alike to rise against the British and demand freedom.
(First Published in Daily Star)
Selected Bibliography:
Hossein, Roquiah Sakhawat. Rokeya Rachnabali, ed Abdul Mannan Syed et al. Second ed. Dhaka: Bangla Academy, 1999.
It has been a strange year for all of us. Amidst the chaos, bloodshed and climate disasters, Borderless Journal seems to be finding a footing in an orphaned world, connecting with writers who transcend borders and readers who delight in a universe knit with the variety and vibrancy of humanity. Like colours of a rainbow, the differences harmonise into an aubade, dawning a world with the most endearing of human traits, hope.
A short round up of this year starts with another new area of focus — a section with writings on environment and climate. Also, we are delighted to add we now host writers from more than forty countries. In October, we were surprised to see Borderless Journal listed on Duotrope and we have had a number of republications with acknowledgement — the last request was signed off this week for a republication of Ihlwha Choi’s poem in an anthology by Hatchette US. We have had many republications with due acknowledgment in India, Bangladesh, Pakistan and UK too among other places. Our team has been active too not just with words and art but also with more publications from Borderless. Rhys Hughes, who had a play performed to a full house in Wales recently, brought out a whole book of his photo-poems from Borderless. Bhaskar Parichha has started an initiative towards another new anthology from our content — Odia poets translated by Snehaprava Das. We are privileged to have all of you — contributors and readers — on board. And now, we invite you to savour some of our fare published in Borderless from January 2025 to December 2025. These are pieces that embody the spirit of a world beyond borders…
I Am Not My Mother: Gigi Baldovino Gosnell gives a story of child abuse set in Philippines where the victim towers with resilience. Click here to read.
Persona: Sohana Manzoor wanders into a glamorous world of expats. Click here to read.
In American Wife, Suzanne Kamata gives a short story set set in the Obon festival in Japan. Click here to read.
Sandy Cannot Write: Devraj Singh Kalsi takes us into the world of advertising and glamour. Click here to read.
Reminiscences from a Gallery: The Other Ray: Dolly Narang muses on Satyajit Ray’s world beyond films and shares a note by the maestro and an essay on his art by the eminent artist, Paritosh Sen. Click here to read.
A discussion of Jaladhar Sen’s The Travels of a Sadhu in the Himalayas, translated from Bengali by Somdatta Mandal, with an online interview with the translator. Click here to read.
Art by Sophia P, CypressArt by Hugo A, Quezon CityFrom Public Domain
In 1985, famous artistes, many of whom are no longer with us, collaborated on the song, We are the World, to raise funds to feed children during the Ethiopian famine (1983-85). The song was performed together by Michael Jackson, Willie Nelson, Bob Dylan, Ray Charles, Diana Ross, Stevie Wonder, Smokey Robinson, Paul Simon, Tina Turner, Dionne Warwick, Lionel Richie, Billy Joel and Bruce Springsteen. The producer, Julia Nottingham, said: “It’s a celebration of the power of creativity and the power of collective humanity.” The famine was attributed to ‘war and drought’.
Over the last few years, we have multiple wars creating hunger and drought caused by disruptions. Yet, the world watches and the atrocities continue to hurt common people, the majority who just want to live and let live, accept and act believing in the stories created by centuries of civilisation. As Yuval Noah Harari points out in a book written long before the current maladies set in, Homo Deus (2015), “…the stories are just tools. They should not become our goals or our yardsticks. When we forget that they are mere fiction, we lose touch with reality. Then we begin entire wars ‘to make a lot of money for the corporation’ or ‘to protect the national interest’. Corporations, money and nations exist only in our imagination. We invented them to serve us; why do we find ourselves sacrificing our lives in their service?”
What Harari says had been said almost ninety years ago by a voice from another region, by a man who suffered but wrote beautiful poetry, Jibanananda Das… and here are his verses —
“The stories stored in my soul will eventually fade. New ones— New festivals—will replace the old — in life’s honey-tinged slight.”
We carry the poem in this issue translated by Professor Fakrul Alam, lines that makes one dream of a better future. These ideas resonate in modern Balochi poet Ali Jan Dad’s ‘Roll Up Not the Mat’ brought to us in English by Fazal Baloch. Korean poet Ihlwha Choi’s translation takes us to longing filled with nostalgic hope while Tagore’s ‘Probhat’ (Dawn) gives a glimpse of a younger multi-faceted visionary dwell on the wonders of a perfect morning imbibing a sense of harmony with nature.
“I feel blessed for this sky, so luminous. I feel blessed to be in love with the world.”
Starting a new year on notes of hope, of finding new dreams seems to be a way forward for humanity does need to evolve out of self-imposed boundaries and darknesses and move towards a new future with narratives and stories that should outlive the present, outlive the devastating impact of climate change and wars by swapping our old narratives for ones that will help us harmonise with the wonders we see around us… wonders created by non-human hands or nature.
We start this year with questions raised on the current world by many of our contributors. Professor Alam in his essay makes us wonder about the present as he cogitates during his morning walks. Niaz Zaman writes to us about a change maker who questioned and altered her part of the world almost a century ago, Begum Roquiah. Can we still make such changes in mindsets as did Roquiah? And yet again, Ratnottama Sengupta pays homage to a great artiste, filmmaker Shyam Benegal, who left us in December 2024 just after he touched 90. Other non-fictions include musings by Nusrat Jan Esa on human nature contextualising it with Milton’s Paradise Lost (1667); Farouk Gulsara’s account of a fire in Sri Lanka where he was visiting and Suzanne Kamata’s column from Japan on the latest Japanese Literary Festival in the Fukushimaya prefecture, the place where there was a nuclear blast in 2011. What is amazing is the way they have restored the prefecture in such a short time. Their capacity to bounce back is exemplary! Devraj Singh Kalsi shares a tongue-in-cheek musing about the compatibility of banks and writers.
Exploring more of life around us are stories by Sohana Manzoor set in an expat gathering; by Priyatham Swamy about a migrant woman from Nepal and by Naramsetti Umamaheswararao set against rural Andhra Pradesh. While Ahmad Rayees gives a poignant, touching story set in a Kashmiri orphanage, Paul Mirabile reflects on the resilience of a child in a distant Greek island. Mirabile’s stories are often a throwback to earlier times.
In this issue, our book excerpts explore a writer of yore too, one that lived almost a hundred years ago, S. Eardley-Wilmot (1852-1929), a conservationist and one who captures the majesty of nature, the awe and the wonder like Tagore or Jibanananda with his book, The Life of an Elephant. The other book takes us to contemporary Urdu writers but in Kolkata —Contemporary Urdu Stories from Kolkata, translated by Shams Afif Siddiqi and edited by Shams Afif Siddiqi and Fuzail Asar Siddiqi. A set of translated stories of the well-known Bengali writer, Bibhutibhushan Bandopadhyay by Hiranmoy Lahiri, brought out in a book called Kaleidoscope of Life: Select Short Stories has been reviewed by Somdatta Mandal. Malashri Lal has discussed Basudhara Roy’s A Blur of a Woman. Roy herself has explored Afsar Mohammad’s Fasting Hymns. Bhaskar Parichha has taken us to Sri Lanka with a discussion on a book on Sri Lanka, Return to Sri Lanka: Travels in a Paradoxical Islandby an academic located in Singapore, Razeen Sally.
Bringing together varied voices from across the world and ages, one notices recurring themes raising concerns for human welfare and for the need to conserve our planet. To gain agency, it is necessary to have many voices rise in a paean to humanity and the natural world as they have in this start of the year issue.
I would like to thank all those who made this issue possible, our team and the contributors. Thank you all from the bottom of my heart. I cannot stop feeling grateful to Sohana Manzoor for her fabulous artwork too, art that blends in hope into the pages of Borderless Journal. As all our content has not been mentioned here, I invite you to pause by our content’s page to explore more of our exciting fare. Huge thanks to all readers for you make our journey worthwhile.
I would hope we can look forward to this year as being one that will have changes for the better for all humanity and the Earth… so that we still have our home a hundred years from now, even if it looks different.
Statue of Begum Roquiah in the premises of Rokeya Hall, University of Dhaka. From Public Domain.
Recently, near Shamsun Nahar Hall, the second women’s hall of the University of Dhaka, a resident student defaced graffiti depicting Roquiah Sakhawat Hossein – popularly called Begum Rokeya. Black paint was used to smear her eyes and her mouth. Later, the student apologised for her action and promised to restore the image.
I do not know what upset the young woman. The picture is not offensive. The woman has her hair modestly covered. However, the manner of the defacing is troubling. The eyes have been painted over so that the woman cannot see; the mouth has been painted over so that the woman cannot speak. Why was the young woman denying the rights that Roquiah fought for, that the women of my generation demanded as their fundamental rights, and that the young women of today take for granted? Why was the young woman who defaced the picture denying the rights that the students against discrimination were claiming?
But, then to my surprise, I learned that this was not the only picture of Roquiah’s that had been defaced after August 5. In this other picture she had been given a beard and the derogatory word “magi[1]” written across it. What had Roquiah done to be dishonoured? What had made her controversial? Why was a young generation denying the changes that Roquiah had brought in young women’s lives by sheer perseverance and strength of will? On October 1, 1909, only four months after her husband’s death, Roquiah Sakhawat Hossein started a school in his name at Bhagalpur where she had been residing at the time. It was with great difficulty that she was able to persuade two families to send their daughters to her school. Of the five students, four were sisters.
Forced to leave Bhagalpur for personal reasons, she moved to Calcutta. However, she did not give up her dream and, two years later, on March 16, 1911, she re-started Sakhawat Memorial Girls’ School with eight students. At the time of her death on December 9, 1932, there were more than 100 girls studying at the school. Apart from teaching, the school encouraged girls to take part in sports and cultural activities. In recognition of her contribution to women’s education, the first women’s hall of the University of Dhaka was renamed “Ruqayyah Hall” in 1964.
From Public Domain
More than a century has passed since Roquiah’s Sultana’s Dream was published in the Indian Ladies Magazine in 1905. In Bangladesh, in recent years, more than half of SSC graduates have been girls – who have also outperformed the boys. Though the female to male ratio goes down at the university level, women are working in different professions. Nevertheless, the danger to women that led to the institutionalisation of purdah and its extremes – which Roquiah questioned and decried for its often fatal results and which in Sultana’s Dream she reverses to put men in the “murdana” – still persists.
According to the UN, “Violence against women and girls remains one of the most prevalent and pervasive human rights violations in the world.” It is estimated that almost one in three women has been subjected to physical and/or sexual intimate partner violence, non-partner sexual violence, or both, at least once in her life. Numbers of women’s deaths in 2023 reveal that a woman was killed every 10 minutes.
Sadly, many of the killings are within the family, by husbands, brothers, fathers, mothers-in-law, and mothers – who have internalised the concept of honour and allow their daughters to be killed by those who should protect them. In early November, the murder of five-year-old Muntaha shocked the nation. We learned to our horror that her female tutor has been charged with the murder.
Neither education nor empowerment is proof against violence. What is the answer? Was Roqiuah wrong?
Had Roquiah been here today she would have been surprised to see so many young women wearing jeans but also hijabs – very different from the all-enveloping burqas of her times. Perhaps she would have been happy to see that the young women in the crowded streets were not afraid of the young men, and that, in August, when the traffic police were absent, they were confidently directing traffic. She would have been happy to see that the burqa had changed – as she had once suggested in an essay on the subject that it should.
However, she would have been shocked to see in recent months young men beating each other up with sticks – some even fatally. She had believed in education, believed that education was the answer to improving lives. She had striven to educate girls because she believed that it was education that would change their lives for the better. She would have been horrified to know that most of the young men beating each other up were students. She would perhaps have asked, Was I wrong? If education is not the answer, what is?
It is not enough then to educate women and to empower them. The tutor was educated and empowered. Perhaps what is important then is to realize as Roquiah did that one must have proper values. In “Educational Ideals for the Modern Indian Girl,” she stressed that India[2] must retain what is best about its traditions. Acquiring education did not mean that Indian women should discard their familial roles or forget their cultural values.
Though in this essay Roquiah emphasised traditional roles for women, she also believed that women had roles outside the family. Thus, in a letter to the Mussulman, dated December 6, 1921, she noted that four of the Muslim girls’ schools in Calcutta had headmistresses who had studied at Sakhawat Memorial Girls’ School.
Roquiah has been an icon for the generation of early feminists in East Pakistan/Bangladesh, many of whom like Shamsun Nahar Mahmud and Sufia Kamal were inspired by her and others like Nurunnahar Fyzenessa and Sultana Sarwat Ara who had studied at her school. She was one of the heroines for the generation of women activists of the mid-1970’s who made her call for emancipation their rallying cry. Women for Women, a research and study group, has a poster which quotes lines from Roquiah’s essay, “Subeh Sadek”: Buk thukiya bolo ma! Amra poshu noi. Bolo bhogini! Amra Asbab noi…Shokole shomobeshe bolo, amra manush. Proclaim confidently, daughter, we are not animals. Proclaim, sister, we are not inanimate objects… Proclaim it together, we are human beings.
Many people are frightened of the word feminism and believe it means a radicalism that would destroy society. But in reality, feminism is a call for equality and justice. Yes, Roquiah was a feminist, who saw the positive side of Islam and decried the absurdity and injustices of society. Roquiah would not have radically changed gender relationships but in both Sultana’s Dream and her novel Padmarag (1924), she suggests that women can have identities that are not dependent on their relationships to men. Yes, she was bound by her times, but the courage with which she lived her life – refusing to be shattered by personal tragedies and trying to make the world better for others – is still relevant today. As is the rationality that she stressed at all times.
I’m a cyclone, a whirlwind, I pommel all that lie in my path, I am a dance-driven swing, I dance to my own beat, I’m a free spirit, high on life...
-- Kazi Nazrul Islam, Rebel or Bidrohi, translated by Prof Fakrul Alam.
Young Nazrul
Nazrul’s writing has the power of whirlwind or a tornado — it can break with its force and make with love. His songs are a law unto themselves and called Nazrul geeti. And all this remains popular and still relevant more than a century after he was born.
Kazi Nazrul Islam (1899-1976) was born in Burdwan, a part of the Bengal Presidency that stretched from Bengal to Singapore during colonial times. Nazrul lived through the colonial rule, the independence of the subcontinent, the Partition and the creation of Bangladesh. He was multifaceted — he had tried his hand at soldiering and then settled for being a poet, writer, journalist, and musician. He is now regarded as the national poet of Bangladesh, the Bidrohi Kobi or the rebel poet.
Nazrul teaching Nazrul Geeti
Here, we have tried to gather flavours of his writing and life. We start with the translation of his lyrics (a Nazrul geeti) on butterflies, translated by Fakrul Alam performed by the legendary Feroza Begum, move on to his response to Tagore’s poetry — they had a vibrant relationship as Somdatta Mandal has reflected in her discussion on Radha Chakravarty’s recent translation of his Selected Essays. It’s followed by more translations of three of his poems by Niaz Zaman, who has also written about Nazrul’s support for women. A searing essay on religious divides and socio economic gaps, translated by Sohana Manzoor, also brings to focus the plight of a beggar woman torn by poverty. A short story , showcasing him as a fiction writer, is borne of his experiences as a soldier. Last but not the least, we have a fiery speech by Nazrul from Chakravarty’s translation.
On Nazrul’s 125th birth anniversary, we welcome you to muse on him and his world…
Poetry
Projapoti (Butterfly) by Nazrul has been translated by Fakrul Alam from Bengali. Click here to read.
Somdatta Mandal writes about Radha Chakravarty’s translation of Selected Essays: Kazi Nazrul Islam and in the process explores his life and times. Click here to read.
In Dylan on Worm’s Head, Rhys Hughes describes a misadventure that the Welsh poet had while hiking as a tribute to him on Dylan Thomas Day. Clickhereto read.
Munaj Gul gives an in memoriam for a photographer from Balochistan. Clickhere to read.
Musings of a Copywriter
In ‘Is this a Dagger I See…?‘, Devraj Singh Kalsi gives a tongue-in-cheek account of a writer’s dilemma. Click here to read.
Notes from Japan
In A Golden Memory of Green Day in Japan, Suzanne Kamata tells us of a festival where she planted a tree in the presence of the Japanese royalty. Click here to read.
We have not accepted your message. Forgive us, O Prophet. We have forgotten your ideals, the path you showed. Forgive us, O Prophet.
Lord, you spurned luxury and riches under your feet; You did not want us to be kings and nawabs. All the wealth and treasures of this earth Are for all to share in equal measure. You said all human beings are equal on earth. Forgive us, O Prophet.
Your religion does not reject those of other faiths; You have cared for them, sheltered them in your home. Their temples of worship You did not command to be broken, O brave one. But today we cannot tolerate those of other beliefs. Forgive us, O Prophet.
You did not want shameful wars in the name of religion; You did not put swords in our hands, but your immortal message. We have forgotten your magnanimity; We have embraced blind intolerance. That is why blessings no longer shower upon us from heaven. Forgive us, O Prophet.
These Lovely Flowers, This Luscious Fruit [Ei Shundar Phul Ei Shundar Phal]
Thank you for all these bounties, Lord, For these lovely flowers, this luscious fruit, The sweet water of this river. Thank you for all these bounties, Lord, For these fertile fields of green and grain. You have bestowed precious gems on us, Brothers, companions, sons. You give us sustenance when we are hungry Without our asking. Lord, I disobey your command every day Still you bestow air and light on this worthless being. You gave me the greatest prophet To save me on Judgment Day. That I might not forget the true path You sent the message of the Holy Quran.
To the Poets of the Future [Na-Asha-Diner Kabir Proti]
O poets of the future, may you arise Like the morning sun, Bright and red like hibiscus blossoms. In the golden dawn for which we long May you wake up like countless flocks of birds. I sing in the hope that you will come To soar in the blue sky that I create. I leave behind the memory of my greetings to you: Play on my veena the song of the new day.
Born in united Bengal, long before the Partition, Kazi Nazrul Islam(1899-1976) was known as the Bidrohi Kobi, or “rebel poet”. Nazrul is now regarded as the national poet of Bangladesh though he continues a revered name in the Indian subcontinent. In addition to his prose and poetry, Nazrul wrote about 4000 songs.
Niaz Zaman is an academic, writer and translator from Bangladesh. She has published a selection of Kazi Nazrul Islam’s work in the two-volume Kazi Nazrul Islam: Selections. In 2016, she received the Bangla Academy Award for Translation. “Forgive Us, O Prophet” and “To the Poets of the Future” were first published in Kazi Nazrul Islam: Selections 1, edited by Niaz Zaman (writers.ink, 2020).
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