Malda Training Diary - Administrative Training Institute

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Awami League politicians as selfish, greedy and corrupt. One of them, who had been based
in Malda during the war, had been a Mukhtiyar’s clerk in the district where the D.C. was then
a Deputy Magistrate. This politician had never been able to forget this, and kept trying to
assert his self-styled ‘superior’ position at all times. It seems when Lt. Gen. Arora had met
the authorities, civil and political, at Rajshahi, the D.C had casually referred to “My
Government’s orders,” whereupon this politician had heatedly remarked, “What do you mean
by YOUR government? It is OUR government, WE are the Government,” and so on ad
nauseam!
What remains to be recorded is my general impressions about the country and the
people as such. To a driver whose nerves and patience have been stretched to the limit by the
inexorable decision of Malda’s bullock-cart drivers not to leave the metalled road to motor
vehicles, Bangladesh was truly a paradise. Here, at the faintest, honking of the horn, every
bullock-cart magically left the metalled portion of the road and kept a respectful distance
from us. This was so during my first few visits. But when I went as far as Dacca in March, I
found quite a few carts refusing to give way. Acting on a hunch, I stopped my jeep and asked
them—and sure enough they were evacuees who had got back from India with Indian
Customs of road hogging jealously preserved in their hearts a signs of democratic rights and
status! However, Bangladesh roads were a pleasure to drive on: I do not recall having coming
across a single pothole throughout my drive from Nawabganj to Dacca and back [about 860
KM]. Possibly this was due to the lack of heavy traffic of grossly over laden trucks.
Another of the greatest pleasures of travelling in Bangladesh is a steamer-ride over
the Padma as we had from Nagarbari to Aricha. It is an unforgettable sight, the blue Jamuna
and the muddy Padma running in the same riverbed for miles, without the slightest mixing of
the waters. And the Padma itself, with shores that cannot be sighted, dotted with specks of
numerous sailing boats, bobbing up and down far away near the horizon like sea-gulls, how
can I describe its majesty, serenity and beauty?
I passed through Natore, immortalised in Jibanananda Das in his poem “Banalata
Sen” and Rani Bhabani, that great independent queen. I saw her Kali temple, with the idols
all ruthlessly smashed by the Pakistani Army. It had been turned into a mosque, but now it is
a temple once again, and the famous kanchagolla sandesh is as delicious as ever. In Pabna we
had the rather sad experience of searching for our SDO’s father-in-law’s residence, only to
find a massive crater and totally demolished buildings at the site. Ironically, it was the work
of one of our own bombs! Then there was the massive Hardinge (‘SARA’) Bridge, with the
central span blown-up by the Pakistanis- a truly magnificent sight, unrivalled even by our
own Farakka Barrage Bridge.
But loveliest of all was Dacca. Beautifully laid out and planned, much in the manner
of New Delhi, I did not come across a single beggar in the city. Kamalbari Railway Station
remains an unfinished marvel. Land has been acquired all around it for a considerable
distance, so that no residential buildings can come up to spoil the effect. It has soaring pillars,
going up to 60-70 feet, and completely ‘mod’ architecture. On 25 th March 1971 all who were
present at this station had been gunned down. Now it is a favourite spot for evening
promenade. There are no trains. Even more ‘mod’ is the Second Capital which was being
built near the city, where the architect seems to have insisted that all buildings should have a
spherical shape. It is a curious sight.
But Dacca cannot be divorced from the Steamer/Terminal bustling with people at all
hours, and shops eagerly offering ‘foreign’ toiletries. We asked to see some, and were
disappointed! They were all Indian! And the Rickshaws of Dacca—40, 000 of them! The day
we were there was unfortunately the day of the two Prime Ministers were addressing the
people, and we were caught in the resultant jam for hours. The cycle-rickshaws merrily