Or explain the exodus, or show the spirit of a people or record the hallelujah of the homecoming. He went to find out why it happened. How it happened and. Above all, to see for himself what stange hope drove a hopeless people on the Pakistani solders have made sure that every street corner and every swamp in Bangladesh will bear its own memorial. That every family for generations will have its own tale to tell of a sacrificial offering to freedom. What comes out of this book. In its four major sections, is the utter meaninglessness of it all. We have seen before pictures of a raped woman_ but the face of the Bengali woman that parekh shot for the first section is the face of one who now lives in a world where neither forgiveness nor pain nor memory can ever enter. It is a face at the very edge of suffering a suffering denied its own understanding. The family of refugees is caught as if the photographer had been privileged to keep his camera open on a nightmare this family lacks even the innate cohesiveness that binds people together in flight. Not only do they have no direction as a group. But each one of them. In the way in which a leg is seen raised as if walking on its own. Suggests that theirs is a world without a center. Or perhaps they have seen so many dismembered legs they are no longer sure for how many miles more they can call. Their legs their own. This the story of the ultimate dispossession. Contrast however, the picture in the section on the renewal of the liberation struggle, which shows a group of Mukti Bahini youth. Note the eyes of the old man earlier in the book. Between the two pictures lies not a generation gap but the essence of the difference¬ between despair and renewal. The young men with their rifles have no certainty of victory –only the certainty that they can now live no other way. The section on liberation that ends this saga is exactly as it must have been for those who had left Bangladesh with no hope of return, we will remember not the feet walking on a field of flowers, but the family arriving near their hut. And there, crouching, a young girl who as long as she lives will search for the killer in the dark. These photographs describe the shudder of nine months lived at zero level .THE FULL STORY OF BANGLADESH CAN NEVER BE TOLD.EVEN IN MAN’S VOCABULARY OF HORROR THERE ARE NO WORDS TO DESCRIBE THE BRUTALITY OF THE PAKISTANI ARMY AGAINST ITS BENGALI BROTHERS. IT LASTED NINE NIGHTMARSH MONTHS. THERE IS NO PARALLEL IN HISTORY FOR THE CUMULATIVE SCALE OF ATROCITIES BY THE PAKISTANI ARMY BETWEEN MARCH 25, 1971, WHEN NEGOTIATIONS FOR AN AUTONOMOUS EAST BENGAL BROKE DOWN, AND DECEMBER 17, 1971, WHEN THE BANGLADESH FLAG WAS RAISED IN DACCA.IT WAS NOT JUST A CASUAL FLING OF DEATH LIKE THE HOLOCAUST OF HIROSHIMA. IT WENT BEYOND THE CLINICAL CRUELTY OF THE BELSEN CONCENTRATION CAMPS. DURING THOSE NINE MONTHS THE DEHUMANIZATION OF BANGLADESH DEFIED IMAGINATION: ONE OUT OF EVERY SEVEN EAST BENGALI FLED FROM HIS HOME – AND A TIDAL WAVE OF 10 MILLION PEOPLE WAS HURLED INTO REFUGEE CAMPS IN INDIA; AT LEAST TWO MILLION PEOPLE WERE WIPED OUT; THOUSANDS OF WOMEN WERE RAPED; THE MUTILATED AND THE MAIMED HAVE NOT BEEN COUNTED YET; AND GOD KNOWS HOW MANY CHILDREN HAVE BEEN IRREVOCABLY BROKEN BY THE TRAUMA OF TERROR.THE PEOPLE OF EAST BENGAL HAVE ALWAYS KNOWN THE WORLD AS HOSTILE AND UNPREDICTABLE. THEY HAVE KNOWN THE FURY OF CYCLONES, THE TYRANNY OF TYPHOONS, PRE-PARTION RIOTS, THE EXODUS OF PEOPLE AND, ABOVE ALL, PITILESS FAMINES. THEN, THROUGH THE LAST 25 YEARS OF WEST PAKISTANI RULE, THEY HAD SEEN THEIR “SONAR BANGLA” (GOLDEN BENGAL) DRAINED OF ITS PLENITUDE FROM THE JUTE FIELDS AND THE BOUNTY OF ITS TEA ESTATES DISAPPEAR TO A NEVER-NEVER LAND CALLED WEST PAKISTAN 1,000 MILES AWAY. TIES OF ISLAM, THE BENGALIS WERE TAUGHT, BOUND THEM TO THE STRANGER WHO CAME AS A BROTHER, SPEAKING NOT THEIR SOFT NATIVE TONGUE BUT STRIDENT URDU. WERE THESE THEIR BROTHERS, THESE TALL FAIRER MEN WHO DESPISED THEIR RICE-AND-FISH CULTURE AND WHO SCORNED THEIR PLAINTIVE BOAT SONGS? WERE THESE THE PEOPLE TO WHOM THEY HAD HANDED THEIR POST-COLONIAL DESTINY?FOR 25 YEARS THE EAST BENGALIS BENT WITH THE WIND THAT BLEW FROM THE WEST. YOU HAVE ONLY TO SEE THEIR EYES IN THESE PHOTOGRAPHS, TO LOOK AT THE WAY THEIR LIMBS HAVE TAKEN ON THE CONTOURS OF THE PRESSURES APPLIED ON THEM, TO KNOW THAT, MORE THAN ANY OTHER AGRICULTURAL PEOPLE IN THE WORLD, THEIR ENTIRE UNDERSTANDING OF LIFE IS BASED ON ACCEPTANCE.AND THEN, AT THE END OF 1969, TO THESE PEOPLE WAS GIVEN A MIDDLE-AGED MAN WITH A KIND OF STRANGE FIRE IN HIS TYPICALLY ROUNDED BENGALI BELLY, AND A STRANGE RING OF ANGER IN HIS MUSICAL BENGALI TONGUE THAT MAN IS SHEIKH MUJIBUR RAHMAN. SHEIKH MUJIB, WITH ALMOST BIBLICAL SIMPLICITY, OFFERED THE BENGALIS ONLY ONE WORD: BANGLADESH. BUT IN THAT WORD HE GAVE THEM NO MORE AND NO LESS THAN THEMSELVES, THE KNOWLEDGE THAT THEY WERE CHILDREN OF BENGAL. NO WONDER THAT THE WEST PAKISTANIS FELT, FOR THE FIRST TIME, A SHIVER OF FEAR. “THOSE BLOODY BENGALI BASTARDS” HAD BEEN STRUCK BY A NEW KIND OF PLAGUE. THE GENERALS SMELLED ARSON AND REVOLT: THE BENGALIS HAD THE FIRST FLASH OF A NEW CONSCIOUSNESS.FOR THIS THEY GAVE BACK TO MUJIB, BY A VOTE AS ABSOLUTE AS ANY POLITICAL LEADER CAN EVER GET THE AUTHORITY TO NEGOTIATE ON THEIR BEHALF FOR A NEW LIFE. MUJIB ASKED GENERAL YAHYA KHAN ONLY ONE THING: TO BE ALLOWED TO BEAR RESPONSIBILITY FOR THE BENGALIS’ OWN FUTURE. HIS PLEA WAS COUCHED IN SIX POINTS. NONE OF THESE PROCLAIMED AN INDEPENDENT NATION. THE PLEA WAS ESSENTIALLY A PACKAGE WITHIN THE FRAMEWORK OF PAKISTAN. THE GENERAL DID NOT SAY NO. AS THE TALKS WENT ON, HIS TROOPS WERE MOVING IN. HE PLANNED TO LET THEM LOOSE WITH ONE TERSE COMMAND: “CRUSH THE REBELLION.” HE DIDN’T WAANT TO KNOW HOW THEY WOULD SET ABOUT IT. ON MARCH 25 HE FLEW BACK TO PAKISTAN.KISHOR PAREKH WENT TO BANGLADESH WITH NO PRESUMPTION THAT HE WOULD ANNOTATE THE GENOCIDE, OR EXPLAIN THE EXODUS, OR SHOW THE SPIRIT OF A PEOPLE, OR RECORD THE HALLELUJAH OF THE HOMECOMING. HE WENT TO FIND OUT WHY IT HAPPENED, HOW IT HAPPENED AND, ABOVE ALL, TO SEE FOR HIMSELF WHAT STRANGE HOPE DROVE A HOPELESS PEOPLE ON. THE PAKISTANI SOLDIERS HAVE MADE SURE THAT EVERY STREET CORNER AND EVERY SWAMP IN BANGLADESH WILL BEAR ITS OWN MEMORIAL; THAT EVERY FAMILY FOR GENERATIONS WILL HAVE ITS OWN TALE OF TELL OF A SACRIFICIAL OFFERING TO FREEDOM.WHAT COMES OUT OF THIS BOOK, IN ITS FOUR MAJOR SECTIONS, IS THE UTTER MEANINGLESSNESS OF IT ALL. WE HAVE SEEN BEFORE PICTURES OF A RAPED WOMAN- BUT THE FACE OF THE BENGALI WOMAN THAT PAREKH SHOT FOR THE FIRST SECTION IS THE FACE OF ONE WHO NOW LIVES IN A WORLD WHERE NEITHER FORGIVESS NOR PAIN NOR MEMORY CAN EVER ENTER. IT IS A FACE AT THE VERY EDGE OF SUFFERING- A SUFFERING DENIED ITS OWN UNDERSTANDING.THE FAMILY OF REFUGEES IS CAUGHT AS IF THE PHOTOGRAPHER HAD BEEN PRIVILEGED TO KEEP HIS CAMERA OPEN ON A NIGHTMARE. THIS FAMILY LACKS EVEN THE INNATE COHESIVENESS THAT BINDS PEOPLE TOGETHER IN FLIGHT. NOT ONLY DO THEY HAVE NO DIRECTION AS A GROUP, BUT EACH ONE OF THEM, IN THE WAY IN WHICH A LEG IS SEEN RAISED AS IF WALKING ON ITS OWN, SUGGESTS THAT THEIRS IS A WORLD WITHOUT A CENTER. OR PERHAPS THEY HAVE SEEN SO MANY DISMEMBERED LEGS THEY CAN CALL THEIR LEGS THEIR OWN. THIS IS THE STORY OF THE ULTIMATE DISPOSSESSION.CONTRAST, HOWEVER, THE PICTURE IN THE SECTION ON THE RENEWAL OF THE LIBERATION STRUGGLE, WHICH SHOWS A GROUP OF MUKTI BAHINI YOUTH. NOTE THE EYES OF THE FREEDOM FIGHTERS AND COMPARE THEM WITH THE EYES OF THE OLD MAN EARLIER IN THE BOOK. BETWEEN THE TWO PICTURES LIES NOT A GENERATION GAP BUT THE ESSENCE OF THE DIFFERENCE BETWEEN DESPAIR AND RENEWAL. THE YOUNG MEN WITH THEIR RIFLES HAVE NO CERTAINTY OF VICTORY ONLY THE CERTAINTY THAT THEY CAN NOW LIVE NO OTHER WAY.THE SECTION ON LIBERATION THAT ENDS THIS SAGA IS EXACTLY AS IT MUST HAVE BEEN FOR THOSE WHO HAD LEFT BANGLADESH WITH NO HOPE OF RETURN. WE WILL REMEMBER NOT THE FEET WALKING ON A FIELD OF FLOWERS, BUT THE FAMILY ARRIVING NEAR THEIR HUT. AND THERE, CROUCHING, A YOUNG GIRL WHO AS LONG AS THE LIVES WILL SEARCH FOR THE KILLER IN THE DARK.THESE PHOTOGRAPHS DESCRIBE THE SHUDDER OF NINE MONTHS LIVED AT ZERO LEVEL .- S. Mulgaokar (Introduction)I WOULD LIKE TO THANK THE FOLLOWING, WHO MADE THIS BOOK POSSIBLE:S. MULGAOKAR FOR THE INTRODUCTION;WERNER HAHN, ART DIRECTOR;ARTHUR KAN FOR MAKING THE PRINTS;GENEREAL SUPPORT: JOHNNY GATBONTON, KEITH HOWELL, VICTOR ANANT, DINSHAW BALSARA AND JOHN WALEY - Kishor Parekh