The Manifesto

Muhammad Nurul Islam

Translation of “Ishtihar” by Rudra Mohammad Shahidullah

 

On this Earth, humans were yet to split up for their sheer self-interest.

The land wasn’t owned yet.

Humans, still only the children of the Earth.

 

By then, we’d come to know

The languages of woods and deserts, and of seas and hills.

We learned to till the soil to grow crops.

We came to know how to treat a condition with Vishalyakarani

We prepared our skin to stand

The winter and the summer.

Then, we learned about the drinking of Soma

Dancing, and the sacred festival of our bodies.

Our women grew crops

And our men hunted wild deer.

We all ate and drank together.

Circling the raging fire, we all danced

And kept lauding the Earth.

We adored our beliefs and beauties.

 

In the glittering light of the full moon

Our men and women celebrated their bodies

Amidst the green forest of the hill.

 

How gratifying was our faith then!

How productive was our time then!

How magnificent was our death then!

 

Then—

Breaking the ancient clan life, we’ve built a feudal society.

We’ve started using against each other

The weapons wielded for wild animals.

Some of us have wanted to find pleasure in worklessness.

The weak have become our lackeys.

Some fingers of ours are now vested with the authority

Over others’ life and death.

 

The wheel once made for carrying heavy loads

Has now started to relax the muscles of our feet.

Our wild weapons roaring out the pride of our civilization

Are now set to eclipse human lives and habitations.

 

To make our vision reach far

We’ve made binocular

And to examine the tiniest thing

We’ve made microscope, a magic machine.

Heavy arms and factories have become the alternatives of our hands.

The flying airplane has accelerated the motion of our feet.

 

Our voices have stretched far and wide,

Our language and discourse have been archived,

We’ve composed the history of our advancement.

To perfect and enhance our brain,

We’ve invented the computer.

 

 

Our invented machines have chained us

Our constructed cities have caged us

Our capital and power have imprisoned us

Our spacecrafts have made us eccentric.

 

In the name of guarding our existence, we’ve made deadly weapons.

In the name of saving our lives, we’ve made

weapons of mass destruction.

And we’ve invented nuclear weapons ready to destroy the world.

 

We’ve made cages, one after another.

Breaking one, we’ve made a new one; the same type, yet another—

Caged again and again

Crushed again and again

In cages and by cages

We’ve grown lonely now.

Everyone here is lonely.

 

How ghastly this loneliness (is)!

How brutal this friendlessness (is)!

How painful this faithlessness (is)!

 

In this universe, in this world

By the river Kirtankhola,

The child that is born.

The adolescent who dares to dream of

Running across the widest fields on the horizon.

The moonlight that overflows him with excitement.

The forest that drives him wild and crazy.

The tidal wave that turns invitingly into his passionate addiction.

But the colonial yoke that’s been imposed on him

The educational apparatus designed to turn him into a slave.

But a set of stern rules of religion

That’s been forced on him.

But empty rituals that confined him.

 

The young boy who jumped to the mass movement of ’69.

The young boy who, equipped with weapons, joined the liberation war.

The young boy whose beliefs, dreams, and desires shattered

Into pieces in the aftermath of the war.

The young boy, whose heart’s stained with blood, has witnessed helplessly

Chaos, betrayal, and cruelties all around.

 

Famine and misrule have crushed

Each of his latent desires and dreams.

 

The young man who’s seen the machinations of an invisible hand.

Who’s seen an invisible black hand.

 

The young man who’s joined the processions.

Who’s faced the bullet

Who’s drunk himself blind

Who’s wandered madly with an empty stomach.

The young man who’s thrown himself

Into a whirlwind of terrible insecurities and risks.

 

The man who’s sworn his allegiance to a swarthy lady.

The man who’s still fighting against hunger, death, and pain,

Against inequality and class—

That someone’s me.

 

I’m lonely.

I’m lonely like a dot in this universe.

My heart’s blood-soaked.

My mind’s afflicted.

My dreams are fettered.

My appearance’s graceless.

My tongue’s cut off.

Still, the dream of a new world drives me crazy

It haunts me…

Our farmers, having contracted tuberculosis, go to the field on an empty stomach.

Our women are stricken with hunger, all skin and bone.

Our workers are healthless.

Our children are underfed, wretched, and feeble.

Most of our people are sunk in the sea of hunger, premature death,

And deep sighs.

 

Thanks to the complex operations,

Conspiracies, and brutalities of the warmongers of the world,

We’re trapped in a labyrinth of deeper insecurity

And extreme misery.

 

How painful this insecurity is!

How horrible this lovelessness is!

How cruel this dreamlessness is!

 

Today we want to get back

Our faith and joy once again.

Today we want to get back

Our courage and innocence once again.

Today we want to get back

Our work and festivals once again.

Today we want to get back

Our love and serenity once again.

Today we want to get back

Our health and physical luster once again.

Today we want to return

To our life without cries and sighs.

Today we want to be liberated from

Exploitation and hypocrisy, and untimely death and the pain of hunger.

 

With our enriched science

With our depository of sophisticated arts and crafts

With our vision and precise observation

With our dynamic dialectical philosophy

We’ll return to our world of faith,

To our world of work, festivities, joy, and serenity.

Right use of atomic energy

Will balance our production of food.

Our factories won’t manufacture lethal weapons.

Our medical science will make the world sans diseases.

Merit, courage, and diligence will be the measures of our social value.

 

Our men will be healthy, diligent, and supremely manly

Like those in the paintings of Sultan.

Our women will be industrious, graceful, and elegant.

Our children will be the most beautiful asset of the world.

 

We’ll compose poetry

Of harvests and health, and of beauty and glory.

 

We’ll sing in celebration of our rain and spring.

We’ll celebrate the festival of harvests.

We’ll celebrate the festival of the Moon.

We’ll celebrate our dignified death and dynamic life.

 

But—

A handful of people have blocked our road

To this dreamy life.

They’re in possession of weapons and barracks.

In the name of managing the society,

they’ve a created a terrible prison all around us.

 

They’ve shackled us in poverty

They’ve caged us with clothlessness

They’ve imprisoned us with homelessness.

They’ve enchained us with torture.

They’ve locked us up with bullets.

 

They labor the least

But usurp wealth the most.

They eat the best food

and wear the most expensive outfit.

Their men are obese and ugly.

Their women hide their faces under cosmetics.

They’re disgusting and pitiable because of their indolence and worklessness.

 

Their   envies are convoluted.

Their   jealousies are mountain-high.

Their   cruelties deserve no mercy.

Their   tortures are unheard of.

 

They    long to cut out our tongues.

They    desire to gouge out our eyes.

They    wish to adulterate our talent.

They    want to deafen our ears.

They    want to destroy our muscles.

They want to enslave our children too.

 

In the jungle,

To bring back peace to our jungle life,

Once we had to kill giant beasts,

Likewise, by doing away with

These gigantic and bestial humans today

We’ll again build a world of equality.

We’ll build a world of prosperity and delight.

We’ll build a world of work and tranquility.