A Voice From Without

Extracts From Noman’s journal of

A Voice from Without

A journal about thoughts that keep me awake

( First Conceived April 2006 )

--- All Rights Reserved ---
Written by Noman Mahmood
--- Proper Citation Requested When Using Components of Content---

The description of events that unfolded would ultimately involve the intervention of many countries and personalities like the Beatles.


My encounter with the Most Heinous Crime:  

Yes I was there! yes!... the day it all happened !!!
It was March 25, 1971, difficult to forget. The day started as any other day; waking up with the sweet melody of bird songs and the cool breeze blowing through the open windows, with early morning fresh aroma of tropical flowers and fruits soaked in morning dew.


All week there were constant broadcasts about the impending descent of professional crack force on the rebellious people. Everyone knew that this would eventually lead to a genocide, but no country or any international community did anything except the under paid and under nourished absconding policemen, deserter soldiers and the unarmed students.


I was alone with my mother in an old family bungalow as my father was away at the time. As night fell, I could not sleep due to the tension and at around 2:00 am, I could hear distant sound of automatic gun fire drawing near. As our house was near the police barrack, the retreating police men who were the target of the crack army, begged us to open the door of our house so that they could hide there with us. We knew that would mean certain death for us, though we would definitely like to help them. Policemen were the ones the army were after and we would get sucked into that fight without any weapons to fight with. So we directed the policemen to a remote separate section of our house.


As the sound of gun fire drew near, sudden presence of mind made me dive to the floor from the bed and scream to my mother sleeping in the next room "jump to the floor! and lie flat!!". We lay flat on the floor as bullets started flying over our heads bouncing off  and ricocheting from the walls, as they passed through the thin walls of our house. The army did not search the house just kept on chasing the policemen.


When morning broke, I went for a walk in our garden and found tons of Enfield rifles and revolvers, abandoned by the policemen, strewn all over our large garden with mango, jack fruit, coconut trees and flower beds known in our neighborhood as the "Garden House". The beautiful garden was named after my mother as "Her Smiles". The name of the house was engraved on a marvel stone mounted in the front of one of the two square pillars of the main gate. My father's passion for art and beauty led to this garden of art. Ironically the house was located in an area of the city called "Shantinagar" or "Peace Avenue".


Below is the attic picture of our "Garden House" -me with my sister on the left.

In the afternoon when everything seemed quiet, I took a rickshaw ride to the university students' dormitory area. When I approached, I noticed the dormitories had all their doors and windows wide open and felt an eerie silence; there was nobody there except the presence of a stomach wrenching stench of rotting human flesh, and some large shallow graves in the front porch. The stench was unbearable and seemed to linger in my nose forever. I pondered with dismay, what terrifying events took place here. Some of our friends lived there and now not a single living soul could be found there.


It suddenly dawned on me that I was a witness to a terrible genocide! a historical event!


Strangely it never crossed my mind that I could have lost my life and become a statistic too, only bitterness, anger and feeling of outrage overwhelmed me. The International Brigade who fought so bravely against General Franco in Spain, sent privately a representative to my father in Bangkok where he was an Economist with a branch of UN called ECAFE(Economic Commission for Asia and Far East) asking if they could send some of their men or mercenaries there. He turned down their offer maintaining that our war must be fought by our people.


From observation we can see that well publicized genocides sometime have a remarkable side effect at a terrible cost for example the creation of new nations like Israel, Bangladesh, Bosnia and East Timor etc.


Even though perpetrators of "Crime against Humanity" were brought to justice in Nuremberg trial and by International Court of Justice for atrocities in Bosnia, Cambodia and East Timor, no one was tried for the genocide I witnessed. Only the following mausoleum was built in the memory of the fallen victims, as to say "We have not forgotten".

I do not want to pretend that I did anything heroic by being there. My aim here is only to identify myself.


The difference between watching special effects and witnessing a real life drama and being an inert part of it, is difficult to discern. The day I witnessed the genocide taking place was my last day there, for many years to come. I managed to escape to Thailand.


From that day I began to love wildlife as they are so true in every way and so much to learn from them about life, struggle and happiness.

We owe them this little help!

Old Memories New Pain

The experience transformed my understanding and meaning of life