In fond memory of poet Ohidul Alam

One hundred and seven years ago on January 01, 1911, he had set his mellow foot on the ground of serenity, solitude and sublime beauty of nature at Fateyabad, a little far away from the humdrums of urban life of Chittagong. He was the youngest child of his parents and naturally his parents and other siblings were all much delighted at this birth.

He was given a beautiful name i.e. Ohidul Alam, perhaps on the 6th day of his birth. His Name Giving Ceremony was perhaps followed by an improvised feast of rural culinary flavor which was presumably attended by the Imam of local mosque and his near and dear family members.

The feast was perhaps ended with a Munajat seeking divine blessings and long life for him. This is how the journey of poet Ohidul Alam began in this world like billions of others who came and passed away before him. Like others, he was also a passerby in his journey of life.

His parents and other elders of his family used to call him affectionately Ohid. He was growing healthy and cheerful with the pace of nature in rural tranquility. His primary education started in village Maqtab. He used to reach the doors of school every day through the arbour of nature with eloquent silence.

His mellow foot was gradually getting stronger for romping on the earth, thus transforming him into an Earth Walker which he strongly carried with, till the last breath of his life. Wandering like a stubborn child through the creeks & alleys of shady trees, nestled with the sweet melodies of singing birds in the sultry summer days, he used to look perhaps at the lines of hills and hillocks stretching along his village home in the day light and remained pensive.

At the fall of dusk, he used to perhaps gaze at the astral skies causing relentless poetry to brew from the cascade of his soul. With that gaze and speculations, he gave a deep insight into every nuance of life and shone the metals of his inborn talent to become a poet in the real drama of life.

Beginning his career as a poet from his youthful days to the grey-hair maturity, he pursued and proved himself equal to the task as a born poet of nobility.

Born in a family where his illustrious elder brothers Mr. Deedarul Alam Mr. Shamsul Alam and Mr. Mahbubul Alam who later became the iconic literary figures in the country, Ohidul Alam maintained the tradition and followed the footprints of his brothers and duly nourished and nurtured his inborn faculty on occasions to meet the rebel poet Kazi Nazrul Islam who visited their village home on 25 and 26 January, 1929 and engaged in literary and cultural activities in early thirties.

Further, on another occasion, poet Ohidul Alam met Kazi Nazrul Islam in May 1933 on latter's last visit to Chittagong in 1933 to attend Chattogram District Literary Conference held at Raozan, Chittagong.

Leaving behind his early youthful days in the suburb of Fateyabad where he grew up as a son of nature, poet Ohidul Alam kicked off his heels for an urban life in the township of Chittagong in early thirties, although his heart and soul were rooted in the sublime bounty of nature in the greenery of his village home and engaged in literary and cultural activities in early thirties.

Although he had studied and graduated from Chittagong College in an exquisite urban environment during British regime in British India, poet Ohidul Alam pursued a life style of extreme simplicity. His costume, consisting of a pair of hand-washed white cotton Pyjama, Punjabi and white cotton cap like a trade-mark, was an example of his simplicity. Highly devoted in religion, his practice of Sufism was peerless. 

Soon after graduation in 1936, he chose teaching as his profession and at the certain stage of his career, joined the celebrated Chittagong Collegiate School in the late fifties. I met him first in 1959 when I was seeking admission in Chittagong Collegiate School in class six. My father had an excellent relationship with him in early days.

He married the sister of famous Lokman Khan Sherwani of Pathantooly Khan Bari. Pathantooli Khan Bari was my extended Nanar Bari (maternal grandfather's home) and Lokman Khan Sherwani and his sister were, in that vein, my Nana & Nani respectively.

A descendent, carrying Pathan blood in his vein, Lokman Khan Sherwani was a well built, tall and in hefty figure. He was an activist of Congress in British India who professed Mahatma Gandi and Moulana Azad's philosophy of independent movement.

He used to cover his body in seamless Gandhi's sartorial. His voice was thunderous with a soft heart inside his gigantic figure.Before getting myself admitted in Chittagong Collegiate School, my father took me to poet Ohidul Alam's house -"Alam-Baag" at Kazir Dewri.

It was a lazy winter morning still shrouded with morning dew-drops and haze. Both my Nana (Poet Ohidul Alam) & Nany were busy in preparing breakfast when we landed at their house, in the early morning.

My Nany was tall and graceful. Nana (poet Ohidul Alam) with his loving tone used to call her Lambini (taller and gracious) while Nany, to her much delight, used to respond to the call with great feelings of complacence.

My father and I were served with hot Dhoo'a Pitha (cake made from steamed rice) fresh from the steam pot with fresh khejoorer rosh (date juice) before we were dismissed from their house for school for processing my admission in class six.

Mouth watering taste of that unique breakfast in their house is still spilling down my fading memory of boyhood days. Mahmood Mama (Dr. Mahmudul Alam) also accompanied us for his admission in the school in class seven.

That was the beginning of my sweet relationship with poet Ohidul Alam - my teacher and Nana, both blended in a single entity, which stretched long time with equal sweetness and harmony.

In the class room, we found him always very kind and benign to his students. His class room lectures were classic and filled with lots of humors and wisdom. We never found him angry and unkind to any students.

He used to win the hearts of every student by his unadulterated humor and wishful gestures. He knew exactly the art of 'taming the shrew' by his wit. In response to our casual tricky and naughty demeanor, often he used to tell his students in his language "look boys, do not try to befool me by playing trick. You are still boys, but remember that I am the father of boys.

I know every nuance of tricks that you boys may like to play with me". One day, out of frenzy, on a very flimsy ground, we boycotted his class and proceeded to nearby Railway Polo Ground to play a daylong cricket. In the afternoon, when we came back to school, we found him lost in sadness with tears rolling down his cheeks.

A tempest was blowing so strong inside his broken heart that his ever jubilant face was cast with the deep shadows of grief. A drop of tear in his eyes conquered our young minds of delirious excitement instantly. Realizing our fault, we turned very remorseful and apologized to him through tears. That made him very emotional.

A shadow of gloom which had overcast his face was at once receded. He hugged us and petted our back with great sigh of relief and with unfailing love and affection. My relationship with him never faded even after I had crossed the threshold of school and proceeded to the road to higher studies and subsequent practical busy life. He was equally benign and benevolent to me when we were together in different twists and turns of life.

With a new publication of poetry or any other book of special interest authored by him, he used to visit me with smiling face and offered me a complimentary copy.

He had a unique voice well enough for Nazrul's song, Gazals and Kawalis of Islamic spirit. Wherever he saw a harmonium lying aside, he used to grab at once and blow the pad matching his stentorian voice with songs of great melodies and rhythms in hilarious mood.

With his strongly built pair of legs, he was a footslogger turned a passionate Earth Walker. He used to walk round and round the roads and alleys of the city to meet his dear and near ones with the lamp of wisdom in his hands. He was hardly seen using any mechanized vehicle unless it was urgently warranted for.

His village home with the music of serenity and solitude once he left behind for his sojourn with the doldrums of urban life has drastically changed with the passage of time.

Green paddy fields are now occupied by the brick kiln with towering chimney of billowing black smokes. Destroying the eco-system, the water bodies are similarly turned into marshy mosquito breeding ground and slums for housing the floating population.

Roads & alleys once graced with standing shady trees snuggled with the chirping of avian are now occupied with the romping mechanized killing machines breathing and billowing monstrous black smokes and sounding horrendous noise.

Strange destiny brought poet Ohidul Alam one day to his village home with personal engagements. He was walking slowly along the busy road occupied by the raging killing machines.

He might have been thinking and ruminating over his youthful days at his village home. Sauntering in his full mental solitude at the buzzing thoroughfare, he might have been equally taking stock of his octogenarian life that he left behind as an Earth Walker.

An ominous shadow of death was hovering over his way and cast a baleful spell on him. Suddenly, a one-eyed baby monster with three spinning wheels (CNG Scooter) with macabre desire and lust dashed him with ramming speed and took his life with rage and fury before he could understand as to what happened really. This is how life of a great man which began in serenity, tragically came to an end with a shocking blow on January 25, 1997.

He would have been a hundred and seven years of age with still in a good health and spirit as I guess, had he been still alive. Yet he had a meaningful long life of eighty six years.

His ndmaz-e-janeza was held in the premises of Moulana Miskin Shah Mazar with large attendance of his mournful near & dear ones and was laid to rest in the serenity of the Mazar premises.

On his arrival in this world one hundred and seven years ago, he cried when he first saw the light of this world, while others around him smiled with joy and happiness.

On his departure from this world, he smiled, while others around him cried in grief. This is how the Grand Designer of the universe meticulously painted the canvas of human life with engineering a mystic equations & co-relations between birth and death.

Poet Ohidul Alam in poetic hues from top to bottom an Earth Walker in all goodness and compassion with his trade-mark attire of great simplicity seems to be still alive.

His smiles and humors still reflects on the face of his dear students, his songs in his full-throated voice still resonates in the air, his recitation of self composed poetry and his memory is abuzz and everlasting.

Poet Ohidul Alam's biographical work Prithvir Pothik is his lucid reminiscence of life intricately laced with candid observations which are uniquely of his life that he lived in this world. May Allah grant him lasting peace in the Heaven.(Poet Ohidul Alam was born on January 01, 1911 and died on January 25, 1997)


The writer is a former civil servant