They talk of knowing why the Mississippi cries Of unheard shrills and unknown woes. Yet ask why the Jamuna cries. Silence ... for only I am to know.
The Earth sang Her lullabies When the Nile was still in the womb. The Monsoons quenched Her thirst When the Rhone trickled unassumed. She battled a legion of tempests. She labored under Surya's rage. She breastfed thousand villages. She withstood Durga's rampage. And yet, no one saw Her eyes. ... Heard Her cries. ... Felt Her cries. But I. After Her long journey, With me She sleeps. Deep into my body, She lays. She cries.
Another reason why I was eager to visit Tangail was to see the expansive Brahmaputra River. The Brahmaputra (Sanskrit for Brahma's Son) is one of the longest rivers of Asia, and when it joins with the Ganges and Meghna in Bangladesh, the three form the largest delta in the world. Colloquially, the Brahmaputra is known as the Jamuna in Bangladesh. My expectation of an unfathomable river was not met since it was the dry season, and the river was running only 40% of its full flow. Nonetheless, it was a breathtaking vista - blue water, cloudless sky, pure white sand... add that with some great friends... you got yourself an unforgettable experience.
Upon hearing that I would be going to Tangail for the weekend, friends and colleagues painted a clear picture of what Tangail was going to be like... a town full of sweets and sarees. And due to my still Barney-induced imagination, I started envisioning saree-clad damsels in distress serving me sweets. Regardless, I was uber-excited for this venture into the heartland of Bengal.
Tangail was everything I expected - and a bit more. We visited saree weavers carrying out a centuries-old tradition. It was a sight to see - dozens of nimble, busy hands pulling and tugging exuberantly colorful threads home more to an artist's palette than in these loud loom houses. These Tangailah sarees are famous throughout Bangladesh for their fine weaving and beautiful designs.
My next stop... Sweets. I was never a big fan of sweets - whether Bengali or American. I preferred the occasion rice pudding or ras malai, but never a whole ChamCham. Yes, the dreaded Chamcham. For me, it is synonymous with diabetic overdose. After one spoonful, I put my sweet-dependent manhood to shame, while my local Tangailah friends gobbled 5 whole chamchams in one sitting... yeeesh!
"Don't be a Qadiani," I often heard my mom yell back at me to shut my sass mouthiness. Qadiani? I always wondered what that meant ... what, or rather who, was Qadiani?
It took me a while to have the "ah ha" moment... but when I did find out, it was more of "hmmm?" moment. Por qoui? Basically, the Ahmaddiya movement started in the late 1800's when an Indian Muslim named Mirza Ghulam Ahmad of Qadian, Punjab started teaching a syncretic, 'reformed' version of Islam. It could be compared to the Baha'i movement in Iran, also taking place around the same time. Mirza basically proclaimed he was the promised Messiah, the Mahdi, and the Mujaddid - all rolled in one. He tried spreading his message in the Islamic world, as well as to other faiths in distant lands. Unfortunately, his message of being the Messiah - the last prophet - did not appeal to the world's established faiths, particularly to the majority Muslims who saw him as a heretic (Prophet Muhammed was deemed the Last Messenger).
Last week, there was a three day Ahmaddiya congregation in Dhaka ... the 86th Jalsa Salana. I was invited by one of my colleagues - though I would've found myself there regardless since the mosque is two blocks away from my apartment. The religion junkie that I am, I threw myself in the crowd for two of the days. It was interesting to say the least - a largely Bengali-speaking population was lectured by Bengalis, Pakistanis, Arabs, and even a Bosnian. I was amazed to see the dispersal of the sect, and also their ability to use a multilingual approach, technological advances, and modern issues to address the needs of their community. They called for tolerance and unity - something Bangladesh can offer if it follows its constitution wholeheartedly. The Ahamaddiya Caliph concluded the Jalsa Salana calling for nothing more than world peace. Amen.
Exactly a year ago, over 6000 mourners gathered along the Bay of Bengal to say their final farewell to a man. Across three continents, his relatives and friends alike held week-long vigils, reading the Holy books and endless prayers. Seven seamless cotton garbs layered his body as the Sun last kissed him and returned him to Earth's womb from which he came.
He was born to a family of Rangooni traders, whose lives were split between two lands. Losing his father at age 14, he became the sole breadwinner of his father's family of many. His education ground to a halt as he sought odd jobs to make ends meet. After spending 2 decades sailing the seas, he decided to call US home, where 6 long years of solitude, prejudice, and longing awaited him.
Alas came the day he brought his own family to the States. But this too was not without its woes. A family of nine in a foreign land, without a proper education, without a community, and in ailing health - he was better off left to the vultures. But Life always knew he was a worthy opponent, even at the trickiest of its games. He tried his hardest to provide the best for his family, and left the rest up to God. He gave his children a home, education, and an identity. Eventually, his children had children, and they had children of theirs as well. He saw his children make homes in the promising land, and his children showed him the House of God in the Promised Land. Then came the day when he presented his wife the most beautiful gift a woman can ever wish for - 50 years of fidelity, friendship, and love. Overjoyed with what he had, he refused to get disheartened even when Angel Azrail sat beside his bed and whispered the hymns of death.
Often, men become legends after they die. But this man was a walking, living, breathing legend. He was born an intellectual, but fate forced it chains upon him - war, famine, poverty, rivalry, etc - all countered his ambitions and potentials. The Alchemist that he was, he turned the chains to garlands and helped others weave the same. This man left many things to his family, his city, his world. This man was known by many names and titles to many people... a lover, a brother, a son, a mentor ... and to me, a father.
