“There is no picture of me or our family with Sanjith. Sometime Sanjith himself took this picture in the studio.”
If Sanjit had lived, he would have been around thirty-two. I mean, I said a little more than I did. From childhood there was no custom of birth registration in our family. So none of us know our exact birthday. None of our parents, elder brother. As I am writing this, even our previous generation could not read this text. Now, however, there are some who are studying secondary, higher secondary.
Our date of birth comes from an institutional person. I don’t know where the car came from. But my institutional birthday came from our primary school teacher Anu Didimani.
Anu Didimani is a great story of my life, that story can be told another day. Today I will tell the story of my brother. My friend’s story. My beloved brother, his story.
“Everywhere I go, I look for memories. On the first day after joining bdnews24.com, I saw this historical picture while looking at the office. Almost two years have passed since then looking at this film.”
Sanjit and I are about two years younger. According to tradition, elders should be called Dada, Chhorda (Little Da) Mejda (Mejo Da), but I have always called Sanjit by his name. How many times have I been made to call him Dada, but I never know why.
Of course, he never wanted to. We grew up together. Together we did it all. We have done everything from grazing cows to sleeping together, eating and drinking together.
At some point, Sanjit dropped his studies. Then with a gap of two years, we studied together in the third grade for some time. I used to teach him some maths, sometimes ABCD. Even though I couldn’t. I mean, he could do a little less than me.
Growing up, watching the sitcom series Young Sheldon reminded me a lot of Sanjit. If he had lived, maybe we would have watched this series together someday.
I myself learned the English alphabet well in class three-four. But I remember once we took the first temporary exam together. I probably did some immorality. I mean I helped him. I don’t remember everything very clearly now. Then how come he didn’t study anymore.
I don’t remember the exact year, but it would be around that time when Sanjit dropped out. His father brought him to a grocery store in Dirai Upazila Sadar (Sunamganj District). If you work in these grocery stores for a few days without pay, you can learn ‘a lot’. Now like we do unpaid internships. It means free bed. Then one day grow up to own such a shop – such a simple story. Father left Sanjit with that hope.
How many days! Not more than two/three days. It was rainy season. We had to come to the upazila Sadar by an hour’s river from our house. I go to the market in the morning for some work (maybe to buy books/books). I don’t remember what I did all day. I only remember that before returning home in the evening, I once saw the owner of that shop talking to Sanjit in a slightly threatening tone. Seeing that I cry! That cry eventually came back home with Sanjit. After that he did not go to that shop.
I was in high school then, Sanjit worked in a salon shop in Sunamganj for a long time and opened a shop in our upazila. What was going well? I didn’t know. Then I studied in college in Sylhet.
Our family was not doing very well then. Even though he was doing ten jobs, his father’s well-organized family was getting strained. The previous few years had been flooded once, drought the next. Meanwhile, I have to stay in Sylhet to study in college. From an acquaintance, I started taking money for expenses at one and a half interest (had to pay one and a half times the loan amount). And sometimes I used to take money from Sanjit.
At that time money could be brought at low cost through the post office. Once in dire need, Sanjit sent me 1000 rupees. How did the receipt of that money remain with me? I have taken care of it for many years. But I don’t know how long it will be. This receipt reminds me of many memories with Sanjit. This 13 digit code number is (probably) now stored and remains with me.
“The receipt of 1000 thousand rupees sent by Sanjit.”
At one time, the money borrowed at one and a half interest increased to one and a half lakh rupees. Meanwhile, since the crop was not good for two consecutive years, it became a liability to repay that money. After a while, the father moved to Dhaka with the whole family. They sold their threshing machines, cows, boats and paid half the money, the other half had to be paid after Sanjit’s death.
First he stayed in Narayanganj for some time, then his father moved to Savar. I still don’t understand that much. Just studying, I don’t have to carry the yoke of the world. Baba and the others cleaned themselves, that is, they tried to clean. Father, Sanjit and our elder brother worked in a garment factory.
My elder brother is an ugly man. He had the ability to explore the world. Saw a bit. Once he went to India without telling anyone. He returned after spending one and a half to two years there. I have heard a lot of stories about mountain life in that country from my brother.
There was no difference between men and women in our family. I pretended to have some education after birth to escape from farming or fishing in the wet monsoons. Still had to go to work during the season. I used to see how mother used to do all the household chores and take us to the jalakhe (the first stage of the paddy field), from there we had to plant the jala above. My mother used to go there and work day and night.
When he came to Dhaka, his mother was old. Without telling anyone in the family, he used to go to cook in a student’s mess. No one told me anything. One day Baudi (elder brother’s wife) gave me the news of mother’s job.
I had a hard time accepting that day. I tried to take comfort in the thought that my mother was doing a great job of feeding others. But only I know the story behind it. After a while I also grew up eating other people’s mother’s cooking.
Back to my brother’s story. Year 2013, my HSC exam was conducted. Standardization test. Couldn’t give a good exam last year, so I thought if there was anything to do with the improvement.
Talked to Sanjit on mobile early in the morning of April 23. I then used a Sony Ericsson mobile borrowed from a friend. The gist of my conversation with my brother was that he had given leave to his factory that day because there was a crack in the building.
Today is a holiday, will the factory open again tomorrow? I don’t remember what Sanjit said. However, I still remember the excitement that he had when the garment was given off. But I didn’t know, I will never talk to my brother again.
April 24 Father’s call came in the morning. I just remember, father saying, Sanjit’s garment building has collapsed. He can’t be found.
Everything around me froze. I was like the sky was falling. Crying came in the chest.
What do I have to do? What to do? Nothing is known.
I left for Dhaka with a neighbor elder brother. Second time trip to Dhaka in my life. First time I came to collect an award. I’m going to look for my brother.
Time just flew by. Adharchandra School to Enam Hospital. From there Rana Plaza, then Dhaka Medical College, Pangu Hospital. Savar CMH. Sanjit is nowhere. The news comes again, someone like Sanjit has been seen! Are you alive? The mother thought that the boy was alive even though his arms and legs were broken. In the end, nothing worked.
After 13 days, Sanjit’s decomposed body was found.
That morning when the body was brought in a truck and dumped in Adharchandra’s field, at that time I know why the elder brother thought that Sanjit will also be brought. Early in the morning, he left the house and went to the field, showing a truck and telling his acquaintances that my brother’s body has been brought in this bag. And that’s true!
The bloated body was identified by the clothes on the body. Then the ID card — a familiar lot.
Then 20 thousand rupees.
“Are you sure about the corpse?”
“How did you understand?”
“What is the evidence?”
Hearing various questions, it seems that if the administration costs 20,000 taka less if the body is not taken, then we should not take the body! But mother’s heart, father’s mind did not move. After listening to everything, answering all the questions, arguing, we found the body of our brother. The body of someone’s son.
Everyone in the family is together. No food at home. No one sleeps.
“My mother (right) in a book by Saghati Prakashani on the Rana Plaza tragedy. On the left is my aunt, whose daughter also died. In the middle is another daughter of my aunt.”
Sanjit was the most disinterested in our family coming to Dhaka. How many times have I heard the father say after his death, he is responsible for the death of his son!
One day mother was saying that she is responsible for Sanjit’s death. Because that morning when Sanjit was repeatedly asking to eat, he should have detained his son because he would be late for cooking!
Mother’s regret, why didn’t she forbid her son to go to work that day. His mind was calling, but he couldn’t forcefully say anything. Sanjit reasoned, if the factory opens, and if he is absent, then he will not get the bonus (I don’t know the amount) which is given for 31 days of continuous work. Also, the salary of that day can be cut, the job can also go away.
The mother’s regret is that she could not force her son to talk about this money that day. However, I heard that if he did not go that day, it was said that he would be laid off. Some did not enter the factory that day? Probably came! i don’t know
I have no regrets either. My family had to leave home and come to Savar to repay my loan. Sanjit had to take a job in a garment factory.
I am not responsible for the death of my brother, my friend?
