Where People Are Still People

Dinajpur District hosts many elaborate Durga Puja pandals every year.

Initial observation: it was deep night as the bus from Dhaka crossed the border of Dinajpur District. A few minutes later a woman needed to get down. It spurred discussion among the driver, the conductor and other passengers. Was she sure? Was it okay to leave a woman alone on a dark road?

She repeated the place name. It was right. She got out.

The bus moved forward. The bus stopped. The bus reversed. No, it couldn’t be done. She was delivered instead to the safety of a late night barber’s shop nearby. And I wondered…

I’m not alone in anticipating that assuredly considerate temperament from people of the country’s northwest. Simply mentioning a person is from Dinajpur is a kind of character reference.

This writer was determined to find out: what makes the Dinajpuri?

Goods for sale at a Hindu fair.

Observation: in Dinajpur town no rickshaw driver asked for more than the exact fare; one can’t say that of all regional centres. Indeed twice I was unexpectedly called back. “You paid too much,” rickshaw drivers said, referring to the little extra knowingly given. Now that has hardly happened elsewhere…

I asked our local The Daily Star correspondent Kongkon Karmaker his opinion; and he himself exhibits many of the admirable qualities one might associate with Dinajpur, albeit just between us there’s a bit of Barishailla in his blood.

He spoke of Hindu families preparing shemai, vermicelli, for Muslim Eid al-Fitr; of Muslims leading Durga Puja committees, with some taking the chance to perform aroti dance in front of Ma Durga’s pandal. The town’s prominent temples seem to confirm religious tolerance.

“Dinajpur has one of the highest percentages of Hindus in the country,” Karmaker says, “Disharmony is rare.” The district is also diverse with ethnic minorities, principally the Santhals. Meanwhile, according to Karmaker, local hijras are better accepted and less pushy than elsewhere.

Perhaps there was more to learn in the villages.

Locals at the Nurul Mudir tea shop in Taiabpur, Birol.

At Mahadeppur village in Birol Upazilla, at a nameless shop in the row called Bashudev Supermarket, proprietor Sanatan Chandra Roy agrees to the premise, “People are good here. There’s no conflict between Hindus and Muslims. Why I don’t know. It just is so.”

“What’s in Birol?” proposes a customer. “Everything is here: betel, cigarettes and tea.”

And history agrees. The Dinajpur District Census Report of 1961 as reported in the government Gazetteer observed that Dinajpuris are “nostalgic to a degree, and unless they are very hard pressed they do not leave their homes.”

Kali Puja, Dinajpur. 

“Few experience the pangs of hunger as our own countrymen do in times of distress,” wrote a Briton, Major Sherwill, about Dinajpur, much earlier in 1860, “They may wholly abstain from labour for weeks or even months and still manage to feed and clothe themselves and their families. Their wants are few.”

According to the Gazetteer land has traditionally been more plentiful and population density less than other regions. Have these factors influenced an easygoing attitude?

“There is no district in Bangladesh as thanda [cool] as Dinajpur,” says Md Fazlul Haque at the Nurul Mudir tea shop in Birol’s Taiabpur village. The Upazilla administrative officer spent years in Khulna, which he liked, but “Dinajpur’s people are best.”

Dinajpur's Kali Temple.

His hypothesis: “People are occupied with their own business. Nobody has intention to harm someone. We don’t like conflict.”

“At any Durga Puja pandal,” interjects shopkeeper Mozammel Haque, “for every four Hindus there must be eight Muslims. Everyone enjoys. We are one.”

“The land is good,” he reflects, “That’s why people are gentle.”

“People here are very simple,” suggests farmer Sri Manmohan Chandra Roy of village Andharmucha in Chirirbandar Upazilla. “People are not much desperate so we don’t quarrel.”

Observation: evening on a narrow road in town and I’m surprised by overpowering music blasting from a red-light flashing amplifier, street-side. “Inconsiderate,” is the first thought, but then I notice the other side of the street: the long concrete wall of Dinajpur gaol. Perhaps somewhere inside a prisoner was smiling from hearing the distant rhythms of their favourite Bollywood and Bangla dance numbers? Perhaps a prisoner was having a birthday, knowing they were not forgotten? It takes volume to conquer concrete.

Motorcycle parking area at a Hindu fair. 

And yet the Gazetteer mentions mass migration into Dinajpur, especially at the time of Partition’s upheaval. It lists periods of famine. And news out of the district over the past several months is peppered with instances of violence, some political, others not. Surely such facts remind us: every rule has exceptions.

Regardless, in Dinajpur you’ll find it in general: that helpful, sincere majority – a little more tolerant perhaps, a little more peaceful perhaps…  Exactly why, I’m still unsure.

Kali  Puja in Dinajpur. 

 A ride at a village fair. 

An Islamic Legacy of Harmony

Madrassa students outside the Nesarabadi Islamic Complex in Jhalokati.

The small eatery, Sumon Chotpoti, has no space for a kitchen. The establishment on Kalibari Road in Jhalokati occupies a ground floor room barely big enough for its few tables and chairs. That leaves proprietor Shonkor Chandra, 67, standing on the roadside of an afternoon, surrounded by his ingredients.

Chandra, a Hindu, makes up for the lack of space by being organised. Various chotpoti elements are neatly arranged in plastic bowls and baskets of purple, red and blue – chillies, boiled egg, onions. He knows the value of combination. He’s expert in entertaining his fellow townsfolk.

Unlike chotpoti, society is made of people and flavoured by ideas rather than tamarind and spices. While Chandra might not find room for a kitchen he is lucky. In Jhalokati’s society there is no shortage of space. Contemporary Jhalokati District is one of the most communally harmonious in the country – and local people deservedly take pride from that.

Shonkor Chandra, of Sumon Chotpoti on Kalibari Road, Jhalokati

“We just took tea together,” says Muslim Anisur Rahman, proprietor of Siam Motors, referring to a Hindu friend. “We are neighbours. We live in one place. We are often guests at Hindu weddings. There’s no disturbance in Jhalokati.”

“There are no problems here,” agrees Hindu Nirmal Mandal, 50, who’s been running the Sun Studio photography store for 25 years.

“We are not Hindus and Muslims,” says Chandra, “but people. You do your religion and I do mine. What does it matter? Jhalokati is a bit good in this way.”

While a connoisseur might detect the various elements in Chandra’s chotpoti, the factors which produce an enlightened Jhalokati are not so obvious. Yet on the wall of Sumon Chotpoti are a number of small stickers that hold a clue to at least part of the reason.

On them is written, “Oh Muslim boys, in which hadith have you found that your prestige will decline if you work?” It is to be assumed that for Chandra the mantra for constructive activity applies in equal measure to those of other faiths – yet more telling is that those are the words of the late Islamic theologian Maulana Md. Azizur Rahman Nesarabadi.

Regarded as a saint and commonly referred to as Quaid Saheb Hujur, his shrine is at the expansive Nesarabadi Islamic Complex by the Bashanda River not far from town. His son Md Khalilur Rahman Nesarabadi is the current Principal of the large madrassa there and responsible for the more than forty organisations under the Nesarabadi umbrella.

The Nesarabadi Islamic Complex in Jhalokati.

“He was the mirror of Islam,” says his son, “He believed Islam was not only for Muslims but for everybody.” Indeed, Quaid Saheb Hujur’s contribution to Jhalokati is well-regarded by all religious communities. Both Mandal and Chandra have visited his shrine – Chandra is a regular.

Born in 1911, by all accounts Quaid Saheb Hujur lived a simple life. According to his son, he believed it sinful to save money and never had a bank account or his own home. Khalilur remembers on one occasion when his family was in a particularly bad financial state, his father received cheques for substantial amounts from the Islamic Foundation of Bangladesh as proceeds from books he had written. The son took the cheques to his father hoping it could alleviate the family’s difficulties.

“My life is for Allah,” Quaid Saheb Hujur told him, “My writing is not for earning money. This money is for the welfare of the people.”

Quaid Saheb Hujur believed in an Islam of leading by example and constructive engagement. In 1960 he founded an institution to provide mediation for villagers when the nearest court was in Barisal. He pursued an interest in allopathic treatment, encouraging locals to understand the properties of plants and cultivate those with health benefits. Even today at the madrassa complex the tea served is sourced from joshanda, the mehendi plant, which is thought to be healthy.

Returning from class at the madrassa.

True Muslims serve humanity..

Madrassa students also need technical education.

He founded numerous educational institutions and was instrumental in introducing technical education alongside religious instruction at madrassas. After all, practical skills could only enhance religious knowledge in providing the student with a better opportunity to engage with society on its own terms. He also believed in the rights of women to be educated, and the Nesarabadi complex includes a women’s madrassa.

“We Muslims have forgotten that serving fellow humans is one of the cardinal principles of our religion,” Quaid Sahed Hujur is reported to have said, “In order to become true Muslims we must serve humanity.”

The madrassa grounds

Believing it to be Islam’s work, Quaid Saheb Hujur organised an anti-corruption committee and participated in many anti-corruption processions over the years. According to his son, he was once detained for his efforts. At a rally he had called out dishonest officials by name, which had forced them through shame to return ill-gotten sums.

A great admirer of Rabindranath Tagore and a reader of Swami Vivekananda, Quaid Saheb Hujur was not averse to visiting Hindu religious ceremonies. After all, how could one hope to be of assistance to broader humanity if one does not engage with it? It is documented that he once went to listen to kirtan chanting in the bhakti tradition, performed by a group of kirtankars. After that experience Quaid Saheb Hujur said, “All religions say the same things.”

Visiting a kirtan was not a challenge to his Islamic faith but rather an expression of it.

Md Khalilur Rahman Nesarabadi, son of the late Qayed Saheb Hujur.

During the 1971 Liberation War it is recorded that some Hindus approached Quaid Saheb Hujur seeking to convert to Islam. Their decision was driven by fear, thinking they might be saved from the Pakistani Army. He discouraged them, saying, “The Pakistani Army is killing Muslims as well. Life and death are in God’s hands.” For Quaid Saheb Hujur, conversion motivated by fear was not a proper endeavour.

He believed that for the betterment of Bangladesh good people of all religions should stand united against dictatorship and corruption, and rise above religious difference for peace and unity. That is the legacy he left for Jhalokati.

Unsurprisingly for a saint, there are miracles ascribed to his life, which are naturally difficult to verify. Similarly it reads as somewhat out of character that he took a stand against atheists – though it might do to remember that until the most recent years the term was not politicized in Bangladesh in the way it is today, and to him, it might’ve been more of a synonym for immorality and lack of principle.

The madrassa grounds.

In any case, one does not need to be a Muslim or agree with all aspects of his beliefs to find within his teachings compassion and understanding. The Islam that Quaid Saheb Hujur taught is a faith of the ‘middle path’ with no place for either slackness or extremism.

In Jhalokati, the legacy of Quaid Saheb Hujur continues to be both significant and significantly positive. While a society is made of people, ideas create the flavour. And leadership matters.

Asked what his father would have done if he had lived to see these troubling recent days of Hindu homes being burnt and temples desecrated in several other districts of the country, his son says, “He would have gone to those districts straight away and tried to convince the Muslim communities that it is wrong. Islam does not believe in destruction but in good behaviour and harmony.”

For Shonkor Chandra it might be even simpler. He knows the value of combination. He knows that anyone favouring communalism could never enjoy the diversity of chotpoti. They’d be left, perhaps, to chew on onions. And he could certainly contemplate such things of an afternoon by the roadside, before the customers arrive, in a peaceful district like Jhalokati, in a society that’s not lacking in space.

Quaid Saheb Hujur's shrine is simple and decorated with plants.

This article published in Star Magazine, here: An Islamic Legacy of Harmony

*information sourced from interview and various Nesarabadi Islamic Complex publications.