A bloody autumn's unerasable memory: Our thoughts on the latest bout of communal violence
This is not new, however this week’s violence against the Hindu community has been unprecedented. This begs the question: what future can we see for ourselves?
When our Facebook profile pictures should have looked colourful, it instead shows a black poster that reads 'bloody autumn' in red letters. When we were supposed to immerse the Goddess in a festive mood - dancing and singing - in this month of October, we bid goodbye to our Devi with a broken heart.
The most dejecting reality of this week is that at a time when Bengali Hindus should have been celebrating their biggest, grandest religious festival, they are, in actuality, contemplating their future in their own motherland instead.
The 13 October accusation of a blasphemous activity where the Holy Book of the Islamic faith was allegedly disrespected circulated on social media at warp speed, and even faster came the violent response.
Attackers vandalised, burned and ransacked 70 puja sites, 30 houses and 50 businesses, according to the Bangladesh Hindu Buddhist Christian Unity Council's statement during a press conference at Chattogram Press Club on Saturday.
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The council also said religious extremists have carried out attacks during Durga Puja that have resulted in at least four deaths and 70 injuries over the course of three days.
Now a lot of empty words can be heard, such and such assurances provided. But, no matter what is done or said, it is impossible to heal the heart's wound.
On a personal note, it is the worst Durga Puja experience I continue to live through in my 23 years of life.
The scarred sacred days of our lives, on repeat
For a moment, imagine, during the most joyous days of your life, you are assaulted solely because of your religious beliefs, and the idol of your most cherished Goddess is desecrated and destroyed by angry crowds.
Then what do you have left to live for? What kind of reality do you reckon will unfold before you and your future?
More importantly, it is a matter of heavy sorrow that many of us have stopped believing that we will ever get justice. The same kinds of assaults and attacks are repeating time and again, with no end in sight.
And in none of the cases of the past attacks, has there been any justice. The attacks in this Durga Puja, based on recent track record, will likely bear the same fate.
I was talking with my maternal uncle last night. We were discussing if these issues are really isolated events or a pre-planned ploy.
"We have yet to see a single case of punishment for any perpetrators of the earlier such incidents. This gross disregard for justice actually motivates them to do more. They are becoming fearless knowing that they have impunity.
And, every year, the numbers of such incidents are rising," he said.
Your deafening silence and our salient despair
In Bangladesh, violence against religious minorities is not uncommon. And the most disturbing part is the relative silence of the authorities, the media and the so-called civil societies and intellectuals.
In some ways, social media was one of our important sources of information because this is where we came to know about the clashes, at first. Ironically, these same social media platforms are responsible for spreading misinformation and inciting violence in the first place.
Many media outlets take recourse to blackout when it comes to reporting on religious violence on minorities. They probably have good intentions. They might believe that if they write about it, the more violence would erupt. However, we do not understand the justification for this approach nor condone it.
Every time I browsed Facebook during this puja, I became overwhelmed with welled-up tears and a tight choke hold of my emotions on my soul. I could not make myself look at all the horrible videos of vandalism and temple desecration. Perhaps, I am a faint-hearted lad.
After the incident in Noakhali's Chowmuhani, one of my university friends from Noakhali said: "I spent sleepless nights in Dhaka as my parents live in Noakhali. I want to forget and erase those troubled hours from my memory."
He is not alone.
I too want to erase my memory of what happened in the last few days. But, even when I am writing this article, tears well up time and again, just from reimagining what happened and from the conversations I had with my close friends and family members.
I am probably lucky that I live in the city area, and I have not personally seen any vandalism. I wonder and imagine what a horrible experience it was for those who experienced the violence first hand, whose homes and temples have been vandalised.
I wonder what is happening in their minds: what are they thinking and what will they do?
"I am suggesting that my brother take the IELTS/SAT exam. After that, we will try to send him abroad for an undergraduate degree.
And today I unfriended some school friends. From what they are sharing on social media, it seems that if they find a chance, they will burn down my house themselves," another friend of mine told me.
This particular comment left a mark on my mind. I think these two statements encapsulate the Hindu community's relationship with the country and its majority population.
Every time we discuss the subject with my family members, I hear laments over the lack of justice; while most young Hindus are planning to go abroad for studies with no plan to come back.
Because of this October's spate of attacks on us, I have a terrible feeling that a large number of Hindus might be seriously reconsidering their futures in Bangladesh. One of my own family members said: "I don't feel like this is my home anymore; we are not welcomed here."
I can understand the deep melancholy in the statement, which is also a reaction to the indifferent attitude of the majority populace to the news of the attacks.
Many of my cousins, who live in foreign countries, were texting me to know how we were and how bad the situation is here. They are, with good reason, concerned about our family members who still reside in Bangladesh. One of them sighed with relief that she had already left his country and that her children would not have to go through this.
She did not forget to remind me about trying for scholarships after graduation.
And every one of them, who have gone for scholarships, have never come back. Because they do not see a future here. Of course, there are other socio-economic reasons, but the issue of our treatment as a religious minority always looms large when thinking about our future in our motherland, Bangladesh.
The world is not a safe place for minorities, sure, and that we understand. But what we don't understand is why little action is taken against the perpetrators, time and again.
Are we really not welcomed in our own motherland? I try my best not to believe so.
