I was seventeen or eighteen then, not so long ago. I experienced an event that touched my heart very much. It was about a girl of my age, an unmarried girl who became pregnant, a poor girl of a village, of a Muslim society. Her name was Naju.
She was our neighbor, only two house away from our house. We grew together, in the same village, in the same neighborhood. I was always shy about girls, so were not friend, and we didn’t talked much. We were just of the same age, of the same place, growing up kids.
From very childhood, she was different from all other kids, she was a little handicap. Everybody knew- she is a foolish girl, may be more than that.
Her family was the poorest of our village. She had another seven siblings and she was second of all. I don’t remember her going to school. I remember, when we were going to school, she, with her sisters were going to woods, for collecting dry, fallen wood, that they sell, five taka each bunch. We and many others of our village bought wood from them, for cooking. I had to visit their house very often to bring wood.
Things were going on the same, until she became adult. Then she used to work in others house of our village, a safer way of earning of a adult girl- just like another girl of a poorest family.
By that time I had finished my SSC exam and left for Jessore Cantonment College for my intermediate study. I used to visit home once or twice per month and I was at my seventeenth or eighteenth year at that age. Just when it happened.
At some visit, I found the whole village is talking on an unprecedented incident of our village. It’s that- Naju is pregnant. Can you guess how much noise it can create, in a village, in a Muslim society?? It happened just like that.
The whole village was pointing finger to that girl, and she pointed her finger to Liton-a boy of 24 of our neighborhood. And the boy denied all she said.
The poor family of the Naju was dying for to find a way in blind darkness. They wanted to make her married with that boy. They went to police, not looking for justice, or punishment for guilt, but to threat the boy to marry her. But it didn’t worked. The police was silent, I didn’t know why. Then, at last, the poor family went to the heads of village, crying for justice.
They called for a meeting for justice- “A PONCHAET”. At the evening, the whole village gathered to see what happen. It was happening in the Madrassa of our village. I witnessed it, standing outside the Madrassa, looking through the window.
First, the girl said everything, described the way it happened. Then the boy- he denied all of it. Then the witness of both party, and gradually it became a complete chaos, everyone trying to speak, soon the started shouting to make other hear. The girl was standing at a corner of the big room, full of crazy people. Her eyes was raining silent. She knew the truth is sinking, leaving her alone, helpless.
Next day I left for Jessore and I was lost in my bookish world. Lately, I found things were being fixed politically, giving shelter to the boy and soon the boy went free. Poor girl. I felt sorry for her.
Few month later she gave birth to a baby girl. A girl without a father, how will this girl will grow up in such a society! What will happen to her, having a long life ahead!