The next day, Foyez woke up just in time of morning prayer for another productive day. He washed his face, hands, and legs in the Islamic way, which is called "Ozu" and prayed to Allah (performed Salah).
In his past life, he was a moderate Muslim performed Salah daily. He never got too deep into Islam but simply incorporated Islamic traditions as a daily habit.
After a couple of hours,Foyez went outside to get some fresh air; he felt alive. In his previous life, even fresh air was a luxury—due to the pollution of the urban cities in Bangladesh. The more prosperous the city was, the more it looked like a garbage dump.
He noticed an old man in his 40s with an unshaved face and gloomy eyes, smoking cigarettes nonstop and letting puffs of smoke rise like a depressed man drowning in thought.
"Hello sir. May I know your name ?" Foyez asked, polite yet perceptive.
The old man gave a slow glance, then muttered,
"so you're the polite yet cunning kid Reyaz was talking about. What's your name again faisal.... faiyaz or something like that"
The old man treated him like a kid which angered fayez a bit.
Foyez smiled slightly, remaining calm. "It's foyez sir."
"Oh! Foyez. I recall now. I'm Monish Bosu. Reyaz requested me to meet you."
"Oh, I heard from Captain Reyaz that you used to be in charge of transport .That's why I wanted to meet you.," Foyez said.
" You look like a kid from a wealthy family. what're you trying to gain by starting a business!"
Mr. Monish was skeptical.
"I just lost my memory from a brain injury," Foyez replied calmly.
"What about your family mr. Monish? Don't you have someone to live with after being discharged?"
Mr. Monish took a deep drag of his cigarette and sighed, letting out a heavy fog of smoke.
"I had a lovely wife and three cute children. The eldest should be about your age now. After the outbreak of war, we tried to flee through the northern border. My wife even wore a burka to avoid being detected as Hindu. We even memorized the Kalima Shahadat."
Monish paused for a bit and smoked. then he continued.
"A soldier forcefully removed her veil and noticed sidur on her head. While others checked my sons by removing their pants. We all got caught . I was lucky enough to find a knife during captivation. After unbinding myself, I killed a soldier and fleed. But my family...... I don't know anything about them "
Throughout the Middle Ages, ambitious sultans and nawabs used religion as a tool to justify their imperialism and expand their spheres of influence. Most of these rulers didn't genuinely care about religion—they indulged in alcohol, women, and luxury, using the name of Islam merely for legitimacy.
Meanwhile, young soldiers gave their lives for what they believed was a righteous cause, often manipulated by the elites for political gain.
The practice of using religion for imperialism exists even today. Governments create religious friction and hostility to polarize minorities and brainwash the majority, all to ensure votes in the name of faith.
In the war of 1971, the Pakistani government used the same tactics. They exterminated the Hindu minority, forced them to flee, and even declared Bengali Muslims as 'Half Hindus' simply due to cultural differences. They framed their genocide as a form of jihad.
The Hindu-Muslim conflict in the Indian subcontinent is centuries old, ultimately leading to the division of British India into India and Pakistan. But that's a story for another day.
Understanding Mr. Monish's heavy situation, Foyez prevented himself from asking further about it.
"Don't lose hope, old man. Hope is all we soldiers have right now," Foyez said.
Mr. Monish's mood lightened a bit.
"Past is past. I hope at least they survived.Anyway, I brought two trucks with me."
"You bought them last night?" Foyez asked. "There should be two drivers. Where's your assistant?"
"That twink is sleeping like a pampered girl," Monish grumbled. "Let's wake him up."
They headed to a grass field where two grey trucks stood under the rising sun. They looked ashen and worn—you could tell they had been through war. Probably American trucks once used by the Pakistani Army to transport prisoners, now repurposed to carry cargo.
"Hey old man! Can't you be a gentleman for once?" a voice shouted. Foyez noticed Monish getting into the back of one truck and pulling someone out.
"I just wanted to rest after the war, and here you are, dragging me like a sack," the young man complained.
"Young people are too naive," Monish muttered. "Do you really think you'll get a single penny after the war? If you want to survive, you better work hard"
After the war of 1971, soldiers were discarded like trash. The new government didn't need them anymore. Some became burdens. Sometimes they were seen as threats to the regime. The government talked big about martyrs, but had ignored the surviving soldiers seeing them as a burden.
All they had were certificates and medals—worthless things that they often threw away in gutters after their dream of a better future shattered,they were forgotten in the shadow of history."