The day was just dawning when I made my way to Bombay’s Goregaon station. It was February 6, 1972. I was leaving Bombay on a bicycle for Dacca to witness Bangladesh taking shape. I had followed the events there with care: the brief war, the defeat and surrender of General Niazi. Mujib-ur-Rehman and his Mukti Bahini fighters earned the support of several countries, including ours of course. I was young and idealistic, wishing to participate in history — in however inconsequential a manner.It was this that inspired me to set out for Dacca on my bike. Most of those who saw me off must have privately dismissed it as an eccentric project of a man too poor to choose a more dependable means of transportation! Assisted by a good road map, I passed Bhandara Rajnadgaon, Raipur, Bhilai, Ranchi and Calcutta. The nights I spent in ashrams, police stations and homes of friends friends and colleagues. On an average I cycled 70 km a day. Winter was over. Summer had yet to set in. So the climate was ideal. The scenery—mountains, rivers, forests—both excited and frightened me. A month passed and I had just reached Calcutta. On March 9, I obtained the permit to enter Bangladesh. I crossed the Meghana river — a journey of two and a half hours by boat. Two more days of cycling saw me at Dacca. It was the evening of March 12. The city still bore signs of the recent war: fallen bridges, broken houses.There was fear, certainly, but people were by and large optimistic about the future.I soon made my way to Mujib-ur-Rehman’s office. Mohiyudeen, his aide, let me into the Bangabandhu’s palatial office. I explained my quest and compulsions that had prompted me to embark on this journey. Mujib was at a meeting. His aide allowed him to meet his boss. Mujib-ur-Rehman emerged from the room — tall, mustachioed, bespectacled, sporting his trademark jacket over his kurta. I congratulated him on his great role in the creation of Bangladesh. After exchanging pleasantries, he asked me about Bombay. He appeared anxious about the adverse impression dilapidated Dacca may have created in the mind of his visitor and assured me that he would be happy to welcome me on a second visit after five years (“for God’s sake not on a bicycle”), by which time he hoped to reconstruct the nation. He later inquired about the arrangements for my stay there and invited me to dinner that same night. But the elation I felt at having met Mujib-ur-Rehman was considerably diluted after my interactions with ordinary citizens on the streets. There was a cynicism about India’s role in the creation of Bangladesh. This disappointed me. . I headed for home from Calcutta in the Bombay Mail on March 16, a wiser man.
