By Kamal Chowdhury

When Niazi was signing the deed of surrender with his genocidal hand

His shakiness could be felt then

Niazi was at that moment a lonely and distraught man

Neither pen, nor firearm, neither the drunk Yahya, nor Bhutto

None were his friends then

Standing nearby were the marauder Pakistani soldiers – all silent

Their eyes gazed downwards; their murderous fingers were numb

There were excitements all around

The freedom-loving people were waiting for a historic moment

The valiant freedom-fighters and the soldiers of the joint command

In the last scene Niazi picked up his pen

With trembling hands he wrote his ultimate defeat.

The colour of Bangla’s sky changed at this sight on the Racecourse ground

We returned from the land of the dead

After a long stay abroad, sleepless nights in exile

The corpses of fellow warriors on our shoulders, rifles in hand

Shouting ‘Joy Bangla’ ‘Joy Bangla’ with an invincible elation

We came back –

At that moment the Racecourse meant Independence

At that moment the Racecourse meant the flag of a sovereign nation

At that moment the Racecourse meant the celebration of victory.

This scene is  now written in the river-currents, the flows of water

This scene is  now etched in the colour of alphabets, red roses

This scene is  the ‘shaheed minar’, the martyrs’ monument,

This scene is  the face of our near ones on the mass-graves

This scene is  our golden Bangla

This scene is  a thunderous voice, the courageous fore-finger of Mujib

This scene is  my head forever held high –

We did not capitulate. This sight is that of a triumphant nation.

Translation: Helal Uddin Ahmed

প্রকাশিত: 16 December 2010

When Niazi was Signing the Surrender

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