Memories of My Father - Part 8

It was many years ago. At that time, Bangladesh had only four education boards. And among SSC examinees, girls made up just 21 percent. In the science stream, girls accounted for less than six percent of total students. In those days, most girls in rural areas were married off by Class Seven or Eight, or even earlier. The more economically and socially disadvantaged a family was, the sooner their daughters were married away. And even without marriage, many girls were denied an education. This is

a story from that time.

From a school in a remote village, the daughter of a lower-middle-class father passed her SSC examination in the science stream. It was a first — both for the village and for that school — that a girl had passed SSC in the first division.

Like every other village, that village too had its headman and its self-appointed social guardians, who would come to people's homes and deliver orders wrapped in the language of advice.

"Your daughter has brought glory to our village. We are all very pleased. Now find a good boy and get her married."

The father stays silent. From past experience, he has learned — never say no to the headman's face, never let what's in your heart reach your lips.

"I have a good boy in mind. If you're willing, I can have a word. Your daughter is dark-skinned, but still — a girl with a Matric pass, even if dark, might just be accepted."

Though burning with rage inside, the father has the wisdom to hold his tongue. The headman cannot force his daughter into marriage, after all.

A few days later, the headman returns — this time bringing along several of the father's elder relatives.

"You're not listening to any of us. Have you taken your daughter to the city to enroll her in college?"

"She insisted. She sat for the admission test at a government college. If she doesn't get in, I won't put her through further studies." The father replies, wringing his hands.

"And if she does get in?"

"It's a government college. No tuition fees. If she wants to study, she'll study." — the father says, almost in a whisper. When you have strength within, you need not raise your voice.

The elders leave with sullen faces, alongside a displeased headman.

The powerless receive nothing of value for free. But they receive plenty of unsolicited advice — whether they need it or not. People come of their own accord to offer counsel. So, after a while, the advice-givers return again.

"You've enrolled your daughter in a college in the city — where will she stay? You have no relatives there."

"It's a girls' college. There's a hostel." The father suppresses his irritation.

"You've made a grave mistake. You'll regret it. By the time you're slapping your forehead in despair, it'll be too late — when your daughter runs off with someone." the headman says.

However minor a headman may be, he always has his flatterers. They join in chorus: "By then, there'll be nothing any of us can do."

And still, time and again, person after person comes with advice on all manner of things. The father remains silent throughout.

Ten years pass. The headman and his flatterers return. This time, their tune has changed entirely.

"We're absolutely delighted. We always knew it. Didn't we say that day that your daughter would bring glory to our village?"

"Now will you get your daughter married? I have a good boy in mind. Even if she's dark-skinned, he'll agree to marry a girl who's passed the BCS."

The father remains silent this time too. The father knows — silence is golden.