Never seen pictures of Nazrul dug out by TBS

On the first floor of the shopping complex in the extension building of PG Hospital in Shahbagh was a photo studio named Tivoli Photographics.

Zillur Rahman, a photography enthusiast who had received training from Japan's Fuji Color, established the studio the year after Bangladesh's independence. At the time, the studio was quite well known. 

Prominent people from Dhaka University's Faculty of Fine Arts, PG Hospital, and Bangladesh Betar would go there to have their photographs taken. Distinguished artists like Zainul Abedin and Qamrul Hassan would spend hours chatting and socialising at the studio when they came for photographs.

Around that time, Swapan Saha, 23 years old back then, began working at Tivoli as a photographer. Because of his gentle and friendly nature, he became quite close to the doctors and nurses of PG Hospital as well as the artists, teachers, and students of the Faculty of Fine Arts.

Through his work at Tivoli, this photographer had the opportunity to take several photographs of poet Kazi Nazrul Islam. Those rare photographs of Nazrul, along with their negatives, remained locked away in a box in his home for 50 years.

Swapan Saha is now 73 years old. He lives with his family in Hatirpool, Dhaka. I visited his home on 14 July. While we were talking, he suddenly brought up the subject of his hidden treasure trove — the photographs of Nazrul. Swapan Saha considers these photographs his most precious possessions.

Toward the very end of his life, Nazrul was admitted to Cabin No. 117 of PG Hospital. At that time, Swapan was occasionally called upon to photograph various events at the hospital or to take photographs when necessary. He had the opportunity to photograph the poet at least three times.

The first photograph he took of the poet was underexposed. As a result, the image never had the chance to emerge properly on the photosensitive paper. The next time he photographed Nazrul, however, the moments he spent in the poet's presence became some of the finest moments of his life.

It was 19 June 1976. He had written the date on the packet containing the negatives, which is why he remembers the day so clearly. The last time he photographed Nazrul was around the middle of July that same year. That was also the last time he saw the poet. However, he was not satisfied with the photographs he took on that final occasion.

Recalling the events of five decades ago, Swapan Saha became quite nostalgic.

One morning in the middle of June 1976, an employee of PG Hospital came to Tivoli Studio. He told Swapan, "You have to take the poet Nazrul's photograph today."

It had never even occurred to him that he might be given the opportunity to photograph the Rebel Poet. Given the strict security surrounding the poet at PG Hospital, taking his photograph was a difficult task. Even newspaper photographers were not easily granted permission to photograph him.

But the thought that he would have such an easy opportunity to photograph the poet filled him with tremendous excitement. He had read Nazrul's poetry in books as a child. To be able to photograph the very poet whose verses he had grown up reading felt like an extraordinary stroke of good fortune.

He quickly rushed to the second floor of PG Hospital with his Yashica 100 4G camera slung over his shoulder.

The poet was lying on a bed in Cabin No. 117. The room was silent and he was alone. It was quite dark inside. The southern balcony of the room did not allow much light to enter. Taking a photograph in such low light was extremely difficult.

Knowing that the photograph would probably not turn out, he nevertheless held the camera steady, held his breath, and pressed the shutter of the twin-lens reflex camera.

He then went into the darkroom. After immersing the film in the chemicals, he examined it under the safe light. The entire surface of the negative was completely dark.

Fearfully, he informed the hospital authorities of what had happened.

A few days later, the same man from PG Hospital returned. He said, "You have to photograph the poet tomorrow. Everything necessary for taking the photographs has been arranged."

Swapan Saha went home, but he was so excited that he could not sleep.

His younger brother, Tapan Saha, had come to stay with him in Dhaka for a few days after sitting for his SSC examination in Faridpur. When he heard what had happened, he said that he wanted to go along too.

The two brothers bought a garland of flowers for the poet that morning. They then went to the studio and loaded a fresh roll of Agfa film into the camera. They also took a Popular flash with them. Swapan's assistant, Bimal Sen, was ready as well.

They arrived at the hospital well before the appointed time. Seeing them, a nurse smiled and said, "There won't be any trouble taking photographs today. The poet is in a very cheerful mood."

As Swapan entered the cabin, he thought to himself: What am I seeing!

There was enough light in the room that day. The poet was sitting perfectly still in a regal posture on a wooden chair covered with a white cloth. Clean-shaven, he had large, striking eyes with an extraordinary gaze. He was smiling faintly and murmuring, as if trying to say something. There was not the slightest trace of irritation on his face.

He was dressed in a beautiful, spotless white panjabi and lungi. His feet were bare, resting on a soft, fluffy cushion. Behind him was a white wall. On his right stood a small stool, on which there was a brass flower vase. The intricately decorated vase was filled with fresh flowers, and their fragrance drifted into the air.

The poet looked like a Greek sculpture. It seemed as though heaven itself had descended upon Cabin No. 117 of PG Hospital.

Dr Nazimuddaula Chowdhury, who looked after the poet around the clock, warned Swapan Saha before the photographs were taken, "The poet becomes agitated when he sees a camera. He gets very annoyed when the flash goes off. So you have to take the photographs carefully."

Swapan Saha was startled by this warning. But as soon as he pointed the camera at the poet, something completely different happened.

The poet stared at him blankly. There was not the slightest hint of annoyance on his face. The poet's enchanting demeanor restored Swapan's confidence.

He first took a full-length photograph of the poet. Then, gradually, he moved in for close-ups. After that, he photographed him in profile from both sides. He used the flash for every shot.

After taking seven or eight photographs, he placed a flower garland around the poet's neck. As he was putting on the garland, the poet looked directly into Swapan's eyes. There was an extraordinary generosity in the poet's gaze and a gentle smile on his face.

Swapan felt as though he could see the features of his maternal grandfather, Gayanath Saha, in the poet's face. It was a moment that seemed almost dreamlike. Bimal Sen captured that extraordinary moment between the poet and the photographer on camera.

The poet looked magnificent wearing the garland. Swapan Saha took another full-length photograph of him. Then, as he lowered the camera, the poet suddenly looked upward, as though something had crossed his mind.

It seemed as if, gazing into infinity, he was establishing a connection with something otherworldly—or perhaps returning to some distant past he had left behind.

The official photography session was over.

Dr Nazimuddaula Chowdhury then went and sat beside the poet. He looked at him with affection and reverence. Swapan Saha, too, became a silent companion to this intimate moment. He went and sat on the poet's left.

The poet turned his face toward him and looked at him. Bimal Sen did not miss the opportunity to capture this three-dimensional, magical moment shared by the poet, the photographer, and the doctor.

Photographs were also taken of Tapan Saha and Bimal Sen with the poet. Immediately after these photographs were taken, the film ran out.

No one realised how an entire hour had passed.

That day, Swapan took 12 photographs on medium-format film. At the time, a single roll of black-and-white film could produce 12 exposures. Every exposure had to be measured and calculated with the precision of an experienced photographer.

In the afternoon, Swapan Saha and Bimal Sen returned to the studio and entered the darkroom. After developing the film, they saw a set of brilliant negatives.

Swapan Saha jumped for joy. Overwhelmed with happiness, he embraced Bimal. Together, they printed four photographs of the poet on quarter-size photographic paper.

How alive those photographs were! It seemed as though the poet might step out of the frame at any moment and write in his notebook:

"I am the eternal rebel hero. I have risen alone, my head forever held high above the world!"

The following day, Swapan Saha went to the office of the director of PG Hospital, Professor Dr Nurul Islam, and delivered the photographs. Everyone was delighted when they saw them.

Around the middle of the following month, Swapan Saha was once again called to photograph the poet.

This time, the poet was sitting on the sofa beside his bed, dressed in a gray panjabi and a checked lungi. Stubble covered his face. His eyes appeared gray. He was murmuring something, seemingly trying to speak.

There was a rather stern expression on his face.

After taking two or three photographs, Swapan felt that this was not the right time to photograph him. He handed the camera to Bimal Sen and went to sit beside the poet.

Very carefully, he took the poet's right hand in his own. The poet did not look at him that day. He seemed to be trying to pull his hand away, with a slight expression of discomfort on his face. He appeared quite exhausted.

So, without disturbing the poet's silence, Swapan put away the camera.

About a month later, as soon as he arrived at Tivoli, he received the news of the poet's death. The news struck him like a thunderbolt.

He heard that the poet would be buried in front of the Central Mosque of Dhaka University. Swapan immediately rushed toward Dhaka University with his camera.

But that day, the country's highest-ranking officials—including President and Chief Justice Abu Sadat Mohammad Sayem and Army Chief Major General Ziaur Rahman—were present there. Because of the VIP security protocol, he could not get anywhere near the site.

Deeply saddened, he returned to Tivoli. The next day, he went to the poet's grave.

The flowers placed upon the grave seemed to be mourning.

As he stood before the silent grave, a flood of silent tears filled his eyes. In his ears kept echoing the poet's immortal words: "Brother, bury me beside the mosque."

The beautiful minaret of the mosque beside the grave stood solemnly against the cloudy Bhadra sky. With the minaret in the background, Swapan captured the scene of his beloved poet's final resting place through the silver chemistry of celluloid.

Swapan was highly skilled in photographic processing and image development.

In 1982, he began experimenting with the poet's photograph under the soft light of the darkroom. He combined two negatives — the poet's otherworldly gaze and the scene of his final resting place — to create a single image through superimposition.

It took him a long time and cost him countless sheets of photographic paper before he finally succeeded in bringing the image to life on the soft emulsion of photographic paper.

That photograph won the "Photographer of the Year" award at the annual photography competition of the Bangladesh Photographic Society (BPS) that year.

Later, an official from the Nazrul Institute asked Swapan to give him the photograph.

Before Swapan submitted it to the BPS photography competition, his mentor, the internationally renowned photographer and cinematographer Anwar Hossain, gave this remarkable photograph its name: "The defiant."