feeling tired due to the long walk
from Hazarduari to Khushbag. As the
three friends walked past the tomb of
Lutfunissa Begam, Sirj-ud-daullah’s
dedicated wife, Nitai said, “There
was a time when this town held more
significance in the heart of Bengalis
than Calcutta.”
A town forgotten in history books,
has more to itself than just the historic
Battle of Plassey. It was the capital
and the flag bearer of the grandeur
and pomp of the Nawabs of Bengal.
The history of Murshidabad is more
humane and passionate than the one
portrayed in history books. A classic
tale of human aspirations, ambitions,
jealousy, betrayal and, in the end—
the overpowering of Calcutta over
Murshidabad.
The fall of Murshidabad and the
defeat of Nawab Siraj-ud-daulah in
the skirmish at Plassey, glorified by
historians with the epitaph of Battle, at
the hands of the East India Company,
earmarked the beginning of 200 years
of British rule in the country.
“He was arrogant and cruel they
say,” Rouben said matter-of-factly.
“Well, we may never know as a large
part of history has been written by
the English and there is a serious
dearth of accounts written by Bengali
historians on him,” said Nitai.
After losing sight of the old man
they were following for a long time,
they realised that they were lost. “It’s
strange that we are unable to catch
up with an old man,” Kamal broke the
dreaded silence. “Come with me, I will
take you to the station,” remembers
Kamal, reminiscing the fact that they
had followed an unknown old man
with a face which they couldn’t make
out in the dead of the night, to guide
them to the Railway station from
Khushbag. “Why did we even follow
him in the first place?” questioned
Nitai but none of them had an answer
to this. “O Babu! Where are you all
going?” a voice reverberated from
the shade of a nearby tree. While
they weren’t expecting company, the
heavy voice left them half excited
and half panicked. Nitai blurted out,
“We need to go to the station.” The
plump middle aged man with a bidi
in his hand smiled and asked, “Then
why are you headed to the opposite
direction? Turnaround and follow this
path, it will lead you to the station.”
All three of them were left confused
and they told the man that they were
following an old man who asked them
to take the opposite route. “O Babu!
Don’t follow any old man. Follow this
path and you will be able to catch
your train in time,” said the man in his
husky tone.
“Then, where was that old man taking
us,” making sure the new information
was correct, Nitai asked. “To his own
grave, to the tomb of Siraj-ud-daulah,”
he said. This didn’t go down well with
the already terrified teenagers as they
turned around and sprinted their way
till the station.
With Kamal running a high fever and
Rouben with an injured leg, the three
took refuge on their berths. Tired and
terrified, they carried the memory of
their rendezvous with Siraj-ud-daulah,
the last independent ruler of India.
Based on a true experience of my
father Shri Nitai Chandra Basak.
Sudipto Basak
Manager - PRCC, PH
ISSUE 1 2018
25