: Dad, look at this—what are these two certificates for?
: Let me see, bring them here… (He put on his glasses and studied them for some time) Oh, I see. These are nothing. These are still around? Where did you find them?
: I was going through your old certificate files.
: These are nothing, son. Don’t show these to anyone—just throw them in that basket.
: Why, Dad? Why throw them away? It says here that you were a freedom fighter.
: No, no! I didn’t do any of that. Don’t tell anyone about this. Throw them away, throw them away! Who told you about this? Your mother?
: No, no, Ma knew nothing about these papers. We just found them today by chance.
: What’s written here isn’t true. I didn’t fight in the war. My friend Irfan fought.
: Who was he?
: He… he was our thana’s high commander. Such a brave boy!
: Then why does this say you’re a freedom fighter?
: That’s from long ago, son. I didn’t have that kind of courage. Fighting a war takes tremendous courage.
: You mean you just took those certificates for nothing? But why?
: Well, what else! I used to go from village to village every day, asking for food and clothes from people’s homes. People were very good in those days. If you asked for something for the freedom fighters, they’d try to give what they could. I’d bring those things and deposit them at the platoon. And I’d hide weapons in various ways and deliver them to freedom fighters in different places. I didn’t do much else. That little bit was just what the times demanded.
: Dad, that’s also a kind of warfare, isn’t it? Tell me, were you ever caught?
: Once some people caught me with weapons. Those bastard razakars! They tied my hands behind my back and were taking me to their camp. When we were crossing a bridge on the way, I said I needed to urinate, then cleverly jumped into the canal and escaped by swimming underwater. Ha ha ha…
: So? You were taking risks too! Right?
: No, no! You haven’t seen war, so you can’t understand how terrifying those days were. War means jumping in with weapons, staking your life completely. I did all that by playing it safe, son. How much can that amount to?
: What are you saying, Dad! That was needed too in those times.
: No, no! You don’t know. That was a time of playing with life itself. I didn’t have that much courage, son. When I think about it, I regret not going to at least one battle!
: Dad, you had these two certificates—you could have easily shown them and gotten an official freedom fighter certificate.
: If they had asked me why I didn’t go to war, I would have felt ashamed. What was the point!
: It doesn’t say here that you didn’t go to war. You could have just said you participated in a battle or two!
: Tsk! How can that be done? But why? Why all this talk after so long? What would you do with a certificate?
: Pappu is going to take the BCS exam soon. It would have been useful for him.
: How useful? (Dad doesn’t know about the quota system in government jobs.)
: Showing the certificate makes getting a job a bit easier.
: Why? Didn’t you get a job? There was no certificate then either. Why now? And I’d completely forgotten about these two papers.
: Oh Dad, it’s not that! Having it would have just made things a bit easier, that’s all!
: Something I was too ashamed to take myself—why are you all so eager for it? Doesn’t Pappu want to get a job based on his own merit?
: You didn’t take it, maybe because you didn’t understand its value. Many others did take it, didn’t they? And it’s been useful too.
: Ha ha ha… Listen, I made a mistake by not going to war then. It wouldn’t have been right to make the same mistake again by taking the certificate.
: Well Dad, my middle uncle didn’t take a certificate either. If he had, it would have helped Sourav. (Sourav is my cousin.) Didn’t uncle get arms training?
: Yes, yes, Shridham could handle weapons. Without listening to any of us, he fell in with friends and went to war. He fought in several battles too. Later, in a front battle, his school friend was shot and killed right beside him. After that, he was too scared to fight anymore. He ran away.
: Right. That means uncle really was a freedom fighter who fought! Uncle could have taken a certificate!
: Yes, he could have. He didn’t take it out of regret. He always suffered from a kind of guilt. Did he ever talk to you about the war?
: No, Dad, uncle never said anything!
: He wouldn’t, and shouldn’t either. He doesn’t tell anyone anything—he’s ashamed to speak of it.
: Well Dad, it says here our village name is Banatali, post office Chufia Madrasa. Isn’t that wrong? Our village is Madhyam Muradpur, post office Moliaish.
: The names were different during the war.
: Oh, I see. Dad, there’s a signature here from Thana High Commander Irfanul Haque Saheb—who is he?
: That’s Irfan, my friend. He was such a brave boy—he’d roar like a tiger! He used to tell me, “You can’t fight in battles. You help us in other ways.” He would tell me what needed to be done.
: He’s the one who issued you those two certificates?
: Yes, everyone was taking certificates then. Even those who just went to camp, did nothing but eat and drink—they took them too. So I took mine as well! In case it might be useful someday. Later I felt it wasn’t right.
: Well Dad, you could eat at the camp?
: Yes, you could. Lots of food would come. We’d all eat together. Many people went just to eat. We used to joke about them. They’d do no work at all, just shirk. They have certificates too.
: Why don’t you have one? You could have taken one too!
: Son, God gives everyone exactly what they need. What would I do with more than that?
: Wait, you used to tutor during the war, and whatever money, food, and clothes you got from tutoring, you’d take to the camp? Ma told me.
: Yes, yes, I used to do that. But no, no, I didn’t give that much! I tutored just to meet my own expenses. Your mother just exaggerates everything.
: I see. Dad, do you remember your friends from the liberation war?
(Dad suddenly fell silent. He let out a long sigh and continued…) I remember. Many died in the war itself. They weren’t cowards like me—they were brave, they fought. Many became disabled. Many of them have died since. I don’t know anything about many others. I’m getting old, son. I too will go to them one day. If I can see you all happy, that’s enough for me. I don’t want anything else. God has given me so much; more than I deserved. It’s all His grace.
I saw tears in Dad’s eyes, his vision becoming blurred. He took off his glasses and wiped his eyes with the back of his right hand. I didn’t say anything more. I went to the next room and sat with my head down, lost in thought.
This morning, waking up and going through Dad’s old papers and academic certificates out of mere curiosity, I suddenly came across three documents.
One is in Bengali: my father’s identity card as a freedom fighter, complete with his full name and address. The date reads: 4 February 1972 English (most likely, an incorrect date below the signature). The second is a certificate stating that during the Liberation War, my father served as an active member of the Mukti Bahini, fulfilling his duties as directed. The date reads: 16 February 1972. Both are signed by Irfanul Haque, the in-charge of the Thana High Command at the Mirsarai Thana Guerrilla Force Headquarters. The third is a certificate stating that during the Liberation War, my father’s ancestral home was burned down, he and his family were victims of looting, his own uncle was captured by members of the Razakar force and shot dead, and that my father suffered tremendous losses.
My father could have very easily obtained a freedom fighter’s certificate as a genuine freedom fighter if he had wanted to. But he didn’t. When we heard his candid, simple confession of why he didn’t, our heads bowed in reverence. The thing I have hated most in this life, hate now, and have decided to hate for the rest of my life is: hypocrisy. Today I understand how certain character traits flow through the blood itself.
Our father was such a freedom fighter who has no freedom fighter’s certificate. Our father, our pride. We can never grow to be as great as our father.
Actually, God doesn’t give everything to everyone. God bestows fortune upon those who understand humanity.
🖤