At the beginning of 2010, under the accusation of attempting to assassinate Barrister Tapas, the five of us military officers were in intelligence custody. However, we were kept in the ‘Officers’ Mess B’ area of Dhaka Cantonment. Though arrested, our movements were restricted. No regular officers would come to meet us. If anyone dared to visit, the intelligence agency would naturally inquire about their reasons. Most officers avoided us, but a few well-wishers, senior officers, or coursemates would occasionally check on us.
One day, a close junior officer came to visit. He was mentally distressed and wanted to talk for a while. He had great affection for me. At that time, I was staying in a room in the mess with Fuad. With the permission of the on-duty guard officer, Shahid (a pseudonym—I can no longer recall his real name) came to talk to me. He was a Major back then.
A few months earlier, in Rampura, Dhaka, an agency had picked up a student leader named Suman. It was claimed that he had three murder cases against him. Suman was portrayed as a dangerous criminal. However, after his arrest, a different picture emerged. Further inquiry revealed that Suman was not who they claimed. There wasn’t even a general diary (GD) filed against him at the police station. It was true that he was affiliated with the student wing of a political party, but that was the extent of his “crime.”
Suman had no family except for his mother, who was a diabetic patient. He took care of her. After his arrest, his mother’s cries filled the air. She even held a small press conference. Journalists and police sources confirmed that the arrest was a mistake. But Suman was not released.
This is where my junior officer’s story connects.
A decision was made to execute Suman in a so-called “crossfire.” Under the leadership of the intelligence agency, in the presence of police and RAB, Suman was to be killed. That night, he was blindfolded and forced into a vehicle. Realizing his fate, he pleaded, “Sir, there is no one in this world to take care of my mother. She will die without me. Please let me go, if possible.”
The vehicle did not stop. As he became certain that there was no escape, he started reciting the Quran. Notably, Suman was a Hafiz of the Quran. To keep himself calm, he continued his recitation.
Eventually, the car stopped in a secluded area. He was blindfolded, his hands cuffed behind his back, and he was taken out of the vehicle.
A police officer was ordered to execute him, but he refused. Then, my junior Major was given the order. He, too, refused. His soul trembled at the thought of murdering a man who was reciting the Quran.
At that moment, another officer stepped forward and said, “Sir, give him to me.”
Suman was taken to an unknown, deserted place. A revolver was placed against his head, and he was shot twice at point-blank range. By the time the second shot was fired, there was no more Quranic recitation from Suman’s lips. The first bullet had already penetrated his brain, silencing him forever.
His body was never returned to his mother. Some fabricated story labeled him as a “terrorist.” Within a month or two of Suman’s killing, his mother passed away from the grief of losing her only son.
The Major told me, “Sir, Suman’s voice reciting the Quran was incredibly beautiful. That voice still echoes in my ears. I can’t sleep.”
I never asked him why he shared this story with me while I was in captivity. Perhaps it was out of guilt.
I searched for references to this incident on Google but found nothing. No newspaper articles, no records. Maybe, because it happened so long ago—sometime in early or late 2009—it has been erased. If anyone has any sources, they might be able to verify it.
Using the phrase “for the sake of national interest,” Major General Tarique Siddique created many monsters. These monsters had only one purpose: to consolidate Hasina’s authoritarian rule. And this project had been in motion since the very beginning of their rule. Every force, every intelligence agency—these monsters infiltrated them all. Many of them willingly sold their souls, abandoning their fear of God in pursuit of worldly gains, indulging in a bloodbath.
May Allah’s severe judgment befall them. May none of them escape His divine punishment in this world and the hereafter.
For the past 17 years, I have never been able to forget this incident. Every time I recall it, it pains me deeply. I often wonder, in the verses of the Quran that Suman was reciting in his final moments, what message did Allah convey for him and for his murderers?
Perhaps, in the presence of Allah, Suman has now reunited with his ailing mother. Maybe he can once again care for her diabetes.
Even if Hasina and her accomplices are ever brought to justice, it will never be enough to balance the scale of their crimes. The extent of their sins, their destruction of innocent lives, is beyond human comprehension. I doubt that any earthly justice could ever measure up to the punishment they truly deserve.
